


Don't Ever Play with Guns

by Athena_Ergane



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Physical Abuse, Prison, Racism, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 137,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athena_Ergane/pseuds/Athena_Ergane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1940s prison AU. A WWII veteran known as Dean Winchester is locked away for a horrific crime. Extreme physical and emotional suffering beset him in prison and only his fellow inmates, Gabriel and Castiel, can comfort him. The mysterious Castiel, in particular, becomes important to Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in the 1940s as WWII wages on. This story is inspired primarily by _Shawshank Redemption_ and will draw from it, but it's a separate thing and will end very differently. I could never, never, never, EVER say I'm even remotely close to being a good enough writer to write something as amazing as my favorite movie… so let's get that out of the way. Ethnic slurs, sexist, and homophobic language appear throughout this fic for historical accuracy and obviously don't reflect my views. 1940s society was not very PC, so I am warning you now! Themes of rape and physical and sexual abuse are also pervasive.
> 
> I just thought of Dean in prison and I made this really depressing, dark, and violent thing here. Be very mindful of the warnings. Also, look out for many different SPN characters. They will turn up like Waldos, in various forms. This story will have Destiel in it, but I haven't decided what to do exactly yet.
> 
> P.S. – Gabriel~! I've never written him before and I'm glad to be able to use him. I'm sorry if I am unable to do him justice. :O
> 
> Okay, read on! Thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank the kind-hearted Bread_and_Butterflies for offering her beta-ing services to me! Thank you! :D

"What do you think, brother? Which one's it going to be?"

Castiel took a drag on his cigarette and blew out a long smoky ribbon, "You know I don't like this game, Gabriel."

"That's what you always say, but you do always play," Gabriel winked at the man to his side. They were standing among a mass of men clad in gray, watching an influx of men emerge from a bus. The men filed out of the bus like ants, captivating the attention of every inmate that had already been serving time. Castiel's somber blue eyes roamed over every new man until they caught on a tallish man with lightly colored hair.

"That one," Castiel said, "The pretty one."

"Are you serious? That's your guess? You're telling me you're picking the fella with the face of a stone-cold killer that's got 'hardened vet' written all over him? You've got to play to win, amigo," Gabriel groaned. They were making bets on who would be the first of the new blood to cry that night. Gabriel had picked up this game from the former kingpin and he now organized all the wagers.

"That's my choice," Castiel nodded. "If he's even half aware of how beautiful he is, he'll be the first to cry…. because he knows he will suffer the most."

"Well, I'm picking the fat one. Just look! He's already nearly blubbering. Child molester if I ever saw one," Gabriel grinned and took Castiel's bet. The other men around the pair were also placing their bets and discreetly handing items to Gabriel.

Castiel returned his attention to the cigarette in his mouth and the soldier boy with the clear, sharp eyes. He looked so young and Castiel thought he saw freckles on his face in the distance when he passed. Castiel wondered what the other man had done to find himself in a prison populated by murderers, thieves, addicts, and rapists. Something about the green-eyed newcomer made him unlike anyone else Castiel had come to know. Perhaps that was why Castiel selected him. The new inmate wasn't just beautiful, but he also looked stalwart and out of place like a righteous man descending into a den of wolves. Although Castiel thought he certainly looked like he had killed some people in his life, he couldn't sense any evil in him and that made him suspect that he could break. The bleakness of prison and all its horrors would destroy that gorgeous man.

Gabriel distracted Castiel by swiping his cigarette and taking a drag for himself. Gabriel didn't like to smoke, so he was smoking just for the sake of pestering Castiel. Gabriel was a relatively short man with pale skin, chestnut brown hair, and a mischievous smirk of a smile. He was known for being crafty and for having the ability to get a convict any kind of contraband he might desire. His usefulness and his power for bribery gained him an elite, almost godlike status among the men. Being Gabriel's best friend came with many perks, not limited to cigarettes. Castiel looked wounded and frowned at the smaller man as the cancer meant for his body entered Gabriel's lungs instead.

"Relax. You know I always get you more," Gabriel replied before blowing a perfect ring into the air. Castiel watched it in awe.

"How do you do that?"

"Magic," Gabriel answered, wagging his eyebrows.

* * *

"Welcome to Curtanica Correctional Penitentiary, Mr. Winchester. My name is Zachariah Spencer and I will be your warden." The words that came from the mouth of the balding, aging man sitting across from Dean sounded pleasant to the ears. In spite of this, Zachariah's face was unable to conceal the disdain with which the man regarded Dean. When Dean said nothing, Warden Zachariah Spencer became irked. He gestured to the two guards at either of Dean's sides. "These fine gentlemen are Uriel Leroy and Sam Andréal. We call Sam here 'Andréal' or 'Andy' because we have another Sam that's been here longer than he has. Uriel and Andréal will help accommodate you."

At this, Dean regarded the man named Uriel. He was an enormous black man with a body like an ancient tree and a content, albeit twisted, smile. The man identified as Sam Andréal could not be more to the other extreme. Andréal was a lily-skinned youth that could hardly be called a man. He was delicately built and stood at attention with an observable uncertainty. While Uriel radiated confidence and strength, Andréal glowed with an innate kindness Dean surmised would be scarce at his new home. Dean couldn't resist making a comment. "You hire kids, Zach?"

"He's new," Zachariah responded bluntly. The disrespect Dean showed pushed every single one of the warden's buttons. "And that's Mr. Spencer, or Warden, to you."

Dean glared at the warden. He was every drill sergeant, every boss, and every teacher Dean had ever hated. "Yes, sir, Warden Zach, sir."

Uriel's fist connected with the side of Dean's face so quickly the Winchester was left seeing stars. "Apologies. Uriel has a temper," Zachariah stated without a hint of regret in his voice. "I looked over your case, Mr. Winchester."

Dean froze and avoiding looking into the warden's icy blue eyes.

"Awful, bad business. I know you are unfamiliar with the notions of respect and common decency, but I will extend all the hospitality within my power to allow you to serve your two life sentences with dignity." The warden stood and went to collect something. He approached Dean, regarding him with a snaky smile. "I have seen hundreds of men enter and leave this institution – some for the better, some in coffins. I have hope for you yet. The greatest gift I will ever be able to give to you is this, the Word of God."

When the warden placed the Bible in Dean's hands, the Winchester reacted as if he'd been handed a container of dismembered body parts. He felt nauseated being in the presence of the warden, especially while holding a book of lies. "I don't want this," Dean said. "Thanks, but no thanks, Warden."

"An atheist. I'm not surprised," Zachariah waved his hand and Uriel lifted Dean to his feet. Andréal was holding Dean's new garb and he collected the Bible when Dean let it drop to the floor. The warden got the last word. "I pray that even your corrupt, wicked soul may be healed here. I pray, Mr. Winchester, that you may learn to accept the Lord as your savior and repent for your sins. Take him away."

Uriel carted Dean off and, by the grace of God, Dean managed to suppress his urge to tell Zachariah to go fuck himself. Dean was stripped of everything that made him a free man. Uriel took pleasure in shoving him along and hosing him down roughly. "Not such a lady killer now!" Uriel howled and chuckled. "Water's cold, get used to it."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted in response. When Dean was clean, he was dressed in the same gray garb of incarceration as all the men that had watched him climb off the bus. The boy guard placed the Bible in Dean's hands.

"Please take it…" Andréal pleaded, knowing that Dean would most likely need it. Shrugging, Dean took the Bible, figuring it might make for good toilet paper if he ever ran out.

* * *

Dinner was served in the mess hall and Dean sat down in a spot where he saw the fewest men gathered. He desired to be alone with his thoughts, but soon realized that would be impossible. As he suffered through his first mouthful of discolored sludge, a tray clattered down in front of him and a hand was extended to him. "Hey, pal. I'm Gabriel. What's your name?"

Dean stared at the hand offered to him and refused to take it. As Gabriel slowly pulled his hand away, he stared at Dean until Dean gave in. He grumbled unwillingly, "Dean Winchester."

To his chagrin, another man sat beside Gabriel. Dean regarded him coolly and noted that he had a disheveled head of thick dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. He was unshaven and a surprising vibe of gentleness accompanied the moroseness he embodied. Having companions had only one positive effect. Observing Castiel and Gabriel helped keep Dean's mind off the running mess of so-called food he was consuming in quick mouthfuls to avoiding thinking about the taste.

"This here's Castiel," Gabriel beamed and gave the scruffy man a pat on the back. "And the guy sitting right next to you is Death."

"W-What?" Dean dropped his spoon and turned to look to his side. He was startled when he caught sight of an elderly man with black hair who was wearing a dour expression. Dean wondered how long the man had been sitting there without him noticing. Now that Dean's eyes were on him, he saw that the man was imposing in every possible sense. His face was familiar from grainy black and gray photographs in the newspapers. Dean's eyes went wide. "Wait. You're not _the_ Death. The Death-Death… from Crowley's mob? That Death? You got caught? Again?"

"It must have happened while you were off at war," Gabriel grinned, trying to get information from Dean. Death was as infamous and as feared as his name suggested. There was a web of myths surrounding him. Two convicts dropped dead the day Death was brought to Curtanica, leading some men to believe that he was death incarnate. They said he could kill a man with a single touch. All the inmates parted from Death's path wherever he walked and they avoided looking directly into his eyes. Only Dean could have been stupid enough to sit right next to Death.

"Mr. Winchester, eat. Your slop is getting cold," Death said in an unaffected tone. When Death told you to eat, you ate.

Gabriel watched with no small amount of amusement as Dean tried not to tremble as he shoveled unpalatable gruel into his mouth. He doubted Dean had expected to find himself in the company of a nationally feared syndicate hitman on his first day. "So, tell us," Gabriel pried, "Army, Navy, or Air force?"

Dean blinked up at Gabriel, "Army."

Castiel kept quiet, but listened and watched Dean intently. He wondered if he'd been fighting the Germans or the Japanese because he had obviously been to war. Castiel picked at his food like a bird while Gabriel and Dean continued their conversation. As though he had read Castiel's mind, Gabriel asked, "Krauts or Japs?"

"Krauts," Dean responded and his face became hard as stone. He had no plans of making friends on the inside and he thought Gabriel was an annoying opportunist. Dean didn't think Gabriel was talking to him out of the goodness of his heart or because he was looking for new pals.

"When'd you enlist? Did you sign up after Pearl Harbor?"

"No," Dean frowned, getting more irritated by the second.

"Ah, must come from a family of military men," Gabriel answered. "Father? Brother?"

"Both," Dean said. "Dad was a marine. My brother and I signed up together, not that it's any of your damn business."

"Whoa, just tryin' to make conversation here. Thanks for your service, buddy," Gabriel said with a salute and stole Castiel's roll from his plate. The blue-eyed man didn't mind. Dean narrowed his eyes at Gabriel and got up to leave. After he was gone, Gabriel peered over at Castiel, "Wow, touchy. Maybe you were right about him."

* * *

Night was sluggish in coming, but it eventually came. Dean was assigned a cell alone and he was locked away for the night much earlier than he was used to going to bed. When the bars clanged in his face, he began to grind his teeth together. This wasn't how he was meant to live. Yet, when Dean settled down into his bed quietly, he considered the fact that he probably deserved every bit of pain and isolation. He stared at the wall, examining every crevice until his cell became a solemn work of art. He was so drawn into the wall he could see minute specks of dust collecting on the plaster in the dim moonlight. Dean rested without moving or sleeping for hours.

He only took a reprieve from his silent brooding to chuck his Bible in the direction of the toilet. Whatever Dean was feeling, he did not allow himself to shed a single tear. Gabriel won the prison-wide bet, as he usually did. However, Castiel's other prediction about Dean was correct.

The very next day, Dean found himself becoming popular for all the wrong reasons. He'd caught the eye of Kristoffer Alastair, a man known and feared for his cruelty. He was tall and past middle-aged, but full of vicious vigor. Alastair was one of the few known serial killers of the times, who delighted in torturing and keeping his victims alive for as long as possible. He was America's Jack the Ripper. He'd been a butcher by trade and had an unconventional knowledge human anatomy that he had memorized with sick detail. Alastair was the worst imaginable combination of intelligence and heartlessness. When he saw something beautiful, he desired nothing more than to dissect it into its parts. Alastair hadn't seen a man as beautiful as Dean in a long while.

Alastair's power also derived from his minions that were never far behind. Miggs, a lanky, dark-eyed, sardonic blond, was a man that had been convicted for plowing down a family on a drunken joyride. Under Alastair's tutelage, Miggs had become exponentially more brutal. Alastair was also always in the company of a man known only as 'Ruby.' Ruby was sly and as handsome as he was callous. He was a tan, black-haired jewel thief and bank robber that never thought twice about spraying bullets at the people that got in the way of what he wanted. He didn't take kindly to being locked away and was more than glad to torture his fellow inmates with Alastair.

On Dean's second day in prison, he was taken by surprise by Miggs and Ruby and hidden away in a place where Alastair knew they would not be seen or bothered. "Welcome to your new home," Alastair gestured to the dark, damp location. His voice was soft, musical, and foreboding. "Lovely, isn't it?"

Dean knew where this was going. War-hero and tough guy, he fought like a lion, but could only best one or two of them at once. With Ruby threatening to break his neck and Miggs too eager to bend his arms the wrong way, there wasn't much Dean could do. Alastair gently touched his face because sometimes the worst forms of torture were the soft, unwelcome kinds. Dean reacted just as Alastair wished – with disgust.

"Dean Winchester, I'm Alastair. Pleasure to meet you. You've already met Miggs and Ruby," He grinned and tried to force Dean's mouth open. "You and I are going to become very close… I can tell."

As Alastair admired his lips and teeth, Dean made a horrible sound of protest and growled, "If you even _dare_ , I swear to God, I will bite down _hard_ if it's the last thing I ever do."

"Come on, Dean," Alastair replied, "There is no God here." The three men may have left Dean's mouth alone that day, but their actions were no less merciless. Hell on earth visited Dean in Alastair's form, leaving behind a human that was bleeding and broken.

* * *

The trio of ruthless devils visited Dean as often as they could and only sometimes was Dean strong enough, smart enough, or lucky enough to escape their atrocious whims. On the days when he was physically unharmed, Dean still haunted the jailhouse like a shadow of his former self. He spoke even less than he had before and no longer had a desire to eat. Dean forced himself to eat anyway, assuming that if he was well fed he would have better chances of defending himself. For weeks and then months, Dean was made only of cuts, bruises, and sore flesh. His duty of washing hundreds of trays, pots, and pans each day aggravated his injuries like pouring salt on a wound. At times, he thought he would be blinded by pain, fear, or both.

On occasions when he was unable to perform his duties, he was sent to the infirmary. Dean came to know Uriel's unkind countenance very well and came to find it devastating in its indifference. The doctor, Frank Devereaux, was sharp-tongued and cantankerous, but he worried for Dean in the acerbic way only he could. The Winchester knew Dr. Devereaux expressed his concerns to Uriel and probably others whenever Dean left his care. Everyone knew about Alastair and his gang. Yet, Dean was certain Uriel wouldn't bat an eye if one day he wandered into the infirmary, collapsed, and burst open at the seams.

Dean only found true sanctuary in the library. He spent as much time there as he could, trying to find some semblance of peace. The library was quiet and Dean thought it wasn't often used because it wasn't particularly well organized or stocked. The space for the library was larger than needed and full of desks and shelves. Dean sat there, sometimes with a book, staring out at nothing. The only other person that spent as much time in the library as Dean was the man that worked there. He would cast discreet glances at Dean and go about his work organizing the labyrinth largely without being noticed.

Today was different. Today the man sat down across from Dean and peeked up at him shyly. Now that he was sitting in front of Dean, he wasn't sure how to start a conversation with him. He decided a greeting would do. "Hello, Dean."

The man looked up from the book he was pretending to read and said, "Hi, Cas."

Castiel shifted in his seat and became full of trepidation because he was not used to talking to people that weren't Gabriel. "My name's Castiel."

Dean was vaguely aware of that, but he preferred Cas. "Doesn't anybody call you Cas?"

Cas shook his head. "But it makes sense. A shortened version of my name. I don't mind it."

"Good. 'Cause I'm callin' you Cas. What can I do for you, Cas?" Dean leveled.

"Nothing…" Castiel looked away unsurely. Dean's gaze was so intense, but his hands were shaking. Cas knew he couldn't ask if Dean was doing okay because it was a stupid question with an obvious answer. More than anything, Castiel wanted to reach out to Dean in some way, but he didn't know how. "I was just…interested in talking to you."

"Yeah, well, we're talking."

Castiel got half a mind to get up and leave, but he remained in place. He turned his thoughts down an avenue that was slightly less dark. "I've been wondering about you."

Dean gave Cas a moderately displeased look and shrugged. "Okay."

 _I like you_.

Castiel's heart throbbed and his eyes widened at his own train of thought. He liked Dean, without knowing why. For whatever reason, he'd been interested in Dean since his arrival and he cared about his fate. They hadn't even spoken to each other before, but he felt a connection to Dean. Castiel talked to Dean about the only thing he knew for certain they would have in common: crime. "Um. I've just been wondering," He faltered, "What're you in for?"

Dean heaved a heavy breath and looked down at the table like he'd just been stabbed in the chest. He hadn't been willing to tell anyone his story since arriving in the pen. Maybe now was that moment because Dean could die today or tomorrow. Maybe Castiel had appeared before him as a sign, as a symbolic priest figure to which he could confess his sins. "I killed my wife," Dean explained, "At least that's what they say, but I'm innocent."

His answer surprised Castiel, who looked upon Dean gravely. "I believe you," Castiel said earnestly. "I believe you're innocent."

"How can you?" Dean scoffed. "I haven't even told you the story yet."

When Castiel showed an obvious desire to hear his tale, Dean raked his eyes around the library to make sure they were alone before recalling his story out loud for the first time outside of a courtroom. His ordeal seemed to have happened a lifetime ago, which made it easier to relive. "You know anything about cars?"

Castiel shook his head.

"I do. I had a 1939 Graham Model 97 supercharged convertible, precious and one of a kind because she was mine. Dark exterior, powerful engine. When she made a single sound that was off, I knew about it. I knew how to pick her apart and put her back together again just right. She was my baby."

 _Are we still talking about a car?_ Castiel paid close attention to Dean, hanging on his every word.

"I knew my wife like I knew my car, okay? She was one of a kind too. Sweet, beautiful, amazing. I killed something, but I tell ya, it wasn't my wife. I knew everything about her. The way she smelled, the way she smiled, and the way she…" Dean's eye twitched. He had to stop. He chewed on the inside of his mouth and recalled the awful nightmare that had been allowed to become a reality. "Some months ago, I get home from working a long day at the garage. I'm oily, dirty, and smelly. She hates that, but she always gives me a kiss anyway. That was her thing. 'Dean, you stink' and a kiss. Not that night."

Dean took a moment to reflect on what he had seen in his kitchen that night. Their cabinets were white and their wallpaper was yellow with tiny flowers. The kitchen had always been a beautiful place. Dean went on, "She was angry for no reason. Furious. She looks at me and she says, 'I'm going to kill you.' My wife doesn't make jokes like that and she wasn't joking. She grabbed a knife like she was possessed and came at me. She starts saying the most horrible things I've ever heard come out of her mouth. She says when she's done with me she's going to take the boy. She's going to chop him up into pieces and make a stew in the bathtub. It didn't make any damn sense."

Castiel gasped and his face filled with sorrow.

"Lisa never talked like that. She loved the kid more than she loved me. That's something I know. I held her off. I ran away because I couldn't hurt her, but she came after me. And I was worried about the kid, which is the only reason I shot her. As soon as I did, and I got her blood on me, I said I was sorry. I said I'd call the ambulance and everything would be okay, but she didn't care. She laughed at me, laughed like some kind of monster and didn't stop coming at me," Dean hesitated to reveal the next part of his story. Castiel took a moment to observe the cuts on Dean's arms, some of them fresh and some of them quite old.

"You're not going to believe me," Dean's brow creased, "Just like the jury didn't. Her eyes turned black. Completely black. That's how I knew, for sure, she wasn't my wife. It was something else. I shot her point blank and she got up. She got up like it was nothin' and I was scared so I shot her again. I think twelve was the – twelve is a lot of bullets. Too many."

Castiel didn't say anything. Glassy eyed, Dean went on, now unable to resist letting words fall from his mouth. "Right when I was about to give up and let her do me in, it was over, finally. There was an awful smell – like pure evil. I don't know why I would remember something like that. The kitchen was a mess. Condiments, blood, broken plates."

"I didn't lie in the courtroom. There wasn't a lie I could come up with that could possibly explain it in a way that made sense. They thought I was a sociopath because I talked about her like it wasn't her – but it _wasn't_ her!" Dean exhaled, "Since I remembered everything so well and didn't have a history of mental illness, they just thought I was lying. All of a sudden everyone was talking about how I didn't have a lot of friends and how I was 'cold.' They said I came back wrong from the war. But who doesn't? My only good character witness came from the town drunk. He vouched for me, even if he didn't believe she'd been possessed. It didn't matter. It didn't matter that I'd never hurt Lisa before or that I served my country. None of that mattered. The kid… The kid saw it. He didn't see everything, but he heard us fighting from upstairs and he saw me with the gun, covered in his mom's blood. They think I killed her because I snapped about the kid not being mine. But that's bullshit. I loved the kid like he was my own. But I did take his mom. Even if she was something else at the time, Lisa never came back after that, and it's my fault."

Dean's story was so terrible and full of pain that Castiel didn't have adequate words to respond to him. Dean found himself terrified of looking at Castiel because he was afraid Cas would be like everyone else. Surely, Cas would be disgusted with him and would think he was nothing but a sadistic monster. "So there you have it," Dean said. "Now you know I'm a wife-murdering psychopath."

"I believe you," Castiel responded simply, much to Dean's surprise. Castiel didn't look like a man that was prone to joking, so Dean stared at him in astonishment for a few moments. Not a single person had believed him.

Quietly, Dean asked, "You do?"

"There is a God, Dean, and there is a Devil," Castiel stated. "There are things in this world that can't be explained with evidence."

Dean looked down at his hands and whispered, "After that night, I believed in the Devil…more than I had while I was at war."

A long, low whistle interrupted Castiel and Dean's private conversation that was not so private after all. Dean's eyes were drawn to a bookshelf from which Gabriel emerged. "That's some story, Dean," Gabriel said. "I wouldn't go tellin' everyone."

Castiel got up and hurried to get back to work. Gabriel sauntered over to Dean and scratched the back of his head. He wasn't sure if Dean was crazy or not, but he believed that Dean had acted in self-defense. The fact that Castiel believed in Dean had a great impact on Gabriel. Castiel didn't talk to anyone. He was awkward and unsure, but he was honest in his belief in the Winchester. Castiel was perceptive and always told the truth, which Gabriel knew well. When Dean looked like he was getting ready to bolt, Gabriel extended a hand. "No, hey. Wait. Since I overheard your story, I'll tell you mine."

"'Overheard.'" Dean scoffed. The emotive, verbose veteran had returned to his terse, stony shell. Dean looked for Castiel, wishing more than anything to hear his story, but remained seated to listen to Gabe.

"I'm innocent too. I beat a guy to death," Gabriel grinned, keeping up his positive demeanor. "Love thy neighbor. You know that one, right? Well, this guy was my neighbor, and so was his wife. I just decided to love the wife over him."

Dean lifted an eyebrow.

"He beat his wife and his girlfriend – probably the kids too. Being a man's neighbor, you see a lot. Funny things, coppers. Sometimes they turn a blind eye. I guess I got a little carried away, but he had it comin'. A wife-beater beaten to death," Gabriel laughed without showing a shred of remorse. "It gets me every time. If you ask me, it was poetic justice."

After telling his story about having shot his wife, it was an understatement to say that Dean was nervous. Gabriel may have been smiling, but Dean did not feel reassured in the slightest. Catching his thoughts, Gabriel gave Dean a big pat on the back. "Don't worry, buddy. I won't come after you. Like Cas says, some things in this world just can't be explained. I like that, by the way, _Cas_. I'm going to start using that."

"I should probably, ah – "

"Whoa, kemosabe! Stick around!" Gabriel answered and plopped himself on the desk. "Lighten up, Dean. We're pals."

"Sure, whatever you say," Dean replied. He was no longer sure if 'pal' or 'friend' had the same meaning they had on the outside. Still, after having relieved his soul to Cas and having received understanding rather than disgust, Dean felt slightly better. Talking to Castiel and Gabriel was something he needed. With difficulty, Dean tried to remember how to be a sociable person. Dean changed the subject, "Hey, Gabriel. I got a question for you. You got a last name?"

"Guerrero de la Cruz."

"Say what?" Dean furrowed his brows. "That whole thing's your name? Are you joking? You don't look like a…"

"Like a spik?" Gabriel narrowed his eyes.

"No, that's _not_ what I was gonna say. You don't look like a, um, Guerrero de la Cruz," Dean answered, doing his best to pronounce the name correctly. "That's all."

"Why does nobody ever believe me when I'm being honest?" Gabriel cried and lifted his hands to the heavens out of distress. "Well, that is my name. My real name."

"What's it mean?"

"Warrior of the cross," Gabriel replied and struck a dramatic, elegant pose.

"Yeah right, wise guy."

"I wish I was making that up," Gabriel smirked and then sighed. "Even I couldn't come up with a more ridiculous name."

"You speak Spanish?"

"And French, but only to my mother and to get tail," Gabriel answered and then frowned when he realized that the two circumstances were very different on a disturbing level.

"Well, whaddya know." Dean leaned forward on the table, enjoying a conversation for once. He still believed it was possible that Gabe was making it all up, but he was entertained all the same. Today was a momentous day in that it marked Dean's first smile. Today also marked the longest Dean had spoken to anyone. Full of charm and _joie de vivre_ , Gabriel almost effortlessly drew Dean out.

"Family's a crazy thing. I've got some Spanish and French in me, but was born in the States. You should see my brother, Miguel. _Michael_ ," Gabriel mocked in a snooty tone. "He's blonde, blue-eyed, like you."

"Green," Dean corrected, "My eyes are green."

"Are they? Oh. Anyhow, ol' Miguel's got a rod up his ass _this big_ ," Gabriel gestured to make his point. "He's wound up tighter than Castiel. Thinks he's the Big Cheese, if you know what I mean. I'm not even sure how we're related."

"That's how I feel about my brother Sammy. He's a good kid – a real good kid. Nothing like me," Dean said sorrowfully. He hadn't spoken about Sam at all to anyone and that hurt. Gabriel and Dean shared a collective sigh of longing.

"Castiel is my brother now. For life, I guess," Gabriel stated and then shouted across the library, "Right Cas?"

Looking horrified, Castiel raised his finger to his lips and shushed Gabriel. His sharp, crystalline eyes clearly stated, _Not in the library_.

"I love you!" Gabriel whisper-shouted to Cas and Castiel shook his head and went back to his duties.

Snickering for the first time in ages, Dean replied, "You're a gas." After a second, Dean cocked his head in the direction of their bashful librarian and asked in a hushed tone, "What's Cas' last name?"

"I wish I knew," Gabriel replied. "After all these years I don't know. He doesn't know. I'm not even sure if Castiel is his real name. That's just what he's always called himself. He's a John Doe in the system. I took a peek."

The world was turning out to be a far stranger place than Dean could have ever guessed. In spite of being a jaded soldier and a convicted murderer, there were still things that puzzled him. Castiel was strange. Dean watched him searchingly and wondered about the story of the mild-mannered, Christian criminal.

* * *

One step forward, five steps back.

The following day, Dean's thrush of hope was crushed, bones and all, by the monster of men, Alastair. This time, Alastair and his men went too far and broke too much. Dean woke up in the infirmary a week later. He couldn't remember having passed in and out of consciousness over the last few days. Dean didn't remember the concussion or the stitches. He only knew that he had died, in one way or another.

His body didn't look or feel like his own and his mouth was full of the faint, rank taste of old blood. Dean hurt more than he thought a human being was capable of hurting. A guard approached Dean, but Dean couldn't recognize his face or voice. Drugs. Despite the drugs he felt so much pain. The guard said something and left an envelope by his beside. Dean welcomed losing his awareness of the world.

The next time Dean awoke, he was more alert. His eyes glanced at the rolling tray table at his side. He moved to observe it more closely and cried out in agony from the horrific ache that overtook his body. He wanted the letter. If something was still allowed to be his, Dean wanted to take it and cherish it. He reached for it with the hand that wasn't broken and gingerly worked to unseal it.

The paper in Dean's hands would become his most precious possession. In the next weeks and months, he would read it everyday, multiple times a day in spite of having it memorized. The first words written on the paper caused Dean to burst into tears and his tears only flowed more freely as he read until he was a shaking mound of misery.

> _Dear Dean,_   
>    
>  _I miss you so much, brother. I know it’s not right for me to say it, but I wish you were still here. I’m not used to being so far apart from you. It doesn’t feel right at all. It’s like I’m missing a limb. Garth misses you almost as much as I do. He told me to tell you he sends you a hello and a hug._

Dean cracked a sniveling smile and wiped his broken nose with his cast. His hands were trembling and his face was inundated with anguish as he read on.

> _I know you’re tired of hearing it, but a day doesn’t go by when I don’t wish it had been me taking that bullet instead of you. You’re my hero, Dean. You always have been, but now you have the bullet hole to prove it. I know you’re probably thinking that I’m ‘talking like a broad’ again, but you can shut up because you’re my inspiration. I was so happy to hear that you recovered fully. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if you hadn’t. I prayed for your recovery every day and I pray for you still just in case._
> 
> _When things get tough over here, I think of you sitting at Harvelle’s, having a burger and a milkshake, and that always makes me smile – a little bit jealous too. I’m glad you’re working at Bobby’s garage. Please keep an eye on him and his drinking. Tell Jess, the Harvelle’s, Bobby, and everyone else that I love them and I miss them. When this war is over, the first thing we’ll do is have a big party. The first thing after I take off these god-awful shoes, that is. I lost one of my shoes! They still don’t make many in my size so I’m wearing a pair that’s too tight. They’re driving me bonkers. If you can, send shoes._
> 
> _I haven’t heard any word from anyone in a long while, so I’m beginning to get worried. I hope you, Lisa, and Ben are doing well. Give them my love and please write back when you get the chance. Most of all, remember I love you. I love you so much._
> 
> _Your little brother,_
> 
> _Sam Winchester_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean recovers from his injuries after a month in the infirmary. When he is released, Castiel is waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardest thing about writing 1940s!Dean is not being able to let him say 'awesome.' Oh, my darling 1940s!Dean, nothing is 'awesome' until the 1980s. Only 'swell,' I suppose. :(
> 
> I think I should also clarify that nobody is a hunter in this AU, but supernatural things exist… _or do they?_
> 
> A Special Note about Racism: I wouldn't want anyone but Uriel to be my hard-assed chief guard and the warden's right hand man, but I do realize this fic takes place at a time during US history in which racial segregation was commonplace and in which extreme inequalities existed. The US Supreme Court upheld laws requiring segregation between "whites" and African-Americans in public facilities, _including prisons_ , in the Plessy v. Ferguson ruling of 1896 using the justification that these facilities would be "separate but equal"…which everyone knew was a HEAPING load of bollocks. Even the military was segregated until 1948 – another massive injustice since many African-Americans served in WWII. The US Supreme Court ruled that segregation was unconstitutional in 1954 (see Brown v. Board of Education), but it wasn't until the passing of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 that the government really had the power to enforce desegregation, which was a slow, violent process.
> 
> So, Dean and all the other characters of this fic grew up during a time in which institutionalized racism and oppression was acceptable and even encouraged. Speaking of Dean, he hates all Germans. He thinks they are all Nazis. Unfavorable sentiments towards Italians and the Japanese may also be expressed in this fic because these nations were a part of the Axis Powers during WWII. Dean's perception of the world is very much colored by his experience in the war. These racial themes will pop up every now and then. Even if they aren't the main focus they are important to know for the context of this story. I just thought this note might be helpful for people unfamiliar with US history and I think it will help avoid any offense or confusion that may arise. Also, who doesn't love fanfic mixing with history? Amirite? Eh? Ehhhhh?
> 
> Sorry my A/N are so long! Next time I will be brief, I promise. Carry on to the fic! Please enjoy. :D

The turning of the New Year had come with momentous changes in Dean's life. January 2, 1944 had marked the day of Dean being transferred to Curtanica Correctional Penitentiary where Gabriel and Castiel had watched him take his long, remorseful walk to join them in a life of confinement. Lisa had been killed early in December of the previous year, just in time for Dean to leave Ben alone to the worst Christmas of his life. The twenty-forth of January had been the most tragic, lonely, and painful birthday Dean had ever experienced. Dean didn't think he deserved to have another birthday celebration for as long as he lived, but he remembered this one anyway because it was the first birthday he had ever spent apart from Sam. Dean's twenty-fifth birthday was also special because it marked the only birthday he had spent covered in sores and bruises.

March 18, 1944 was a day just as important as all these other moments in Dean's new, devastating life, but it passed without Dean being aware of its significance.

Before Dean was ever released from the infirmary, the problem of Alastair was resolved. Alastair sat on his bed one night, waiting, as if he knew tonight was special. He was thumbing through a book of poetry, calmly passing the time. He heard a single clang, and then another. Alastair looked up at his guest, "Good evening, Uriel."

"Alastair," Uriel responded with a respectful nod. Of all the prisoners, Alastair was among the men he hated most. Uriel could imagine the man's poor victims as though they had been his own brothers and sisters.

"A little too much, was it?" Alastair guessed. The thought of the Winchester lying hurting and helpless did make him smile, but he knew he was about to pay for it. "You're right, of course. I could have made him last longer."

"You know why I'm here."

Alastair stood and gave a deep bow, ready to face his worthy opponent. It was fitting, he thought, that Uriel should have a weapon while he did not.

"You're to be reprimanded. Warden's orders, you sick sack of shit." Uriel's blows were swift, brutal, and cracking. He couldn't hit Alastair hard enough to satisfy. He took vengeance for not just the Winchester, but also for every soul that had ever suffered in fear by Alastair's hands. Uriel wanted to know if Alastair would still be so arrogant without any of his teeth. As it turned out, he was.

* * *

After a month in the infirmary, Dean wandered out into the daylight. It strained his eyes. He didn't like it anymore. He wanted nothing but to rest in his bed forever. Slowly, Dean ambled to his cell and collapsed into his bed. He had healed remarkably well, but was still a pitiful sight. Carefully, he pulled Sam's letter from the inside of the cast he wore on his left hand. He'd put it there so Sam's words could touch his flesh at all times like a brand of hope and familial love.

The paper was dirty now, but nonetheless beautiful and perfect. He opened it and stared at the lettering. Dean didn't read the letter so much as he felt its contents. Sam wouldn't hear from anyone back home because Dean had made everyone swear not to tell Sam what had happened. He couldn't allow Sam to know that he was a murderer. Sam was too precious to be burdened by the terrible news of Dean's fate in addition to everything else Dean knew he must have been suffering.

When he gathered enough energy, Dean walked around his cell looking for the most appropriate hole in the wall. When he found it, he chiseled at it with his fingernails to make it larger. Then, Dean carefully folded Sam's letter, placed it in an empty shoe polish tin, and hid it in the wall under his bed. Now, Sam's letter was safe and Dean's cell was more like a home because it was embedded with Sam's love, making the thought of living there less painful. Sam's letter acted as an invisible, secret shield. As far as Dean was concerned, words on paper had never been more powerful.

After hiding Sam's letter, Dean rested in bed for only a few moments before he turned and was startled by the sight of Castiel watching him. "Jesus!" Dean cried, "What the hell, Cas!"

Castiel smiled faintly, more glad to see Dean than he could have imagined, "May I come in?"

Unused to people being so polite, Dean nodded stiffly. The Winchester sat up on his bed, wincing slightly. Strangely, Castiel sat right next to him, a little too close for comfort. Their hips were nearly touching.

"Um…" Dean gave Castiel an unnerved stare. He got a wonderful, heaping eyeful of Castiel's unkempt handsomeness and that added to his anxiety. "Cas," Dean swallowed, "You, uh, you don't have to sit so close. You're in my personal space here."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Castiel replied and reluctantly scooted away from Dean. Dean would have preferred if Castiel had gotten entirely off his bed, but he supposed he could handle Cas sitting beside him for the moment.

Dean got the feeling there was something that wasn't right with Cas, but he couldn't yet put his finger on it. Castiel wasn't talkative and he appeared to have minimal understanding of personal space and how to speak to people, but Dean happened to find him interesting. Inexplicably, Dean didn't feel threatened by Cas and he had no desire to tell him to get lost, so he asked, "Is there a reason why you're here?"

"Close your eyes."

"Excuse me? I'm not closing my eyes! Cas, this is getting weird!" Dean cried. "Seriously weird!"

"Oh…" Castiel expressed confusion, "Gabriel said I should say that. He said it would be a better surprise if you closed your eyes."

Dean's jaw dropped. Dean was having an entire range of unwanted feelings and thoughts that he had difficulty concealing. He watched the odd ball Castiel reach inside his jacket pocket and pull something out. Dean was moderately terrified until he caught a whiff of pure heaven. He knew what the object in Castiel's hands was before it was placed into his own. Dean's heart raced as he looked down at the bundle in his hands. "Is this for me?"

Castiel nodded in reply and watched with anticipation. Dean pulled back a corner of the white handkerchief covering the article in his hand. Before he even saw the item wrapped inside, Dean began to salivate. Looking upon the small prize roused his hunger.

_Apple pie._

For a split second, Dean was certain that he had fallen in love with Castiel, the pie, or maybe both. His cell was no longer a cell or a room with four walls. It was any peaceful, sunny café in the world. It was every diner Dean would never see again. It was Harvelle's on any given day. It was mom's kitchen. Dean held the pie like it was a cherished artifact. "Pie," Dean faltered, "You got me pie?"

"Gabriel did. He told me to bring it to you," Castiel answered.

Dean looked at the pie, moved by its simple magnificence. "It's so beautiful."

"You should eat it," Castiel answered. "It was baked just yesterday."

The pie was almost too beautiful to eat – _almost_. To eat the pie in his hands, Dean thought he would have gladly sucked Castiel's cock, but he didn't have to. He marveled at the fortunate situation he found himself in. When Dean ate, he wasn't eating pie, but the embodiment of elation. Castiel watched Dean eat with enjoyment, which might have been disconcerting in any other situation when Dean wasn't recovering from injuries and starved for pie. As he satisfied his ravenous appetite, Dean made gratuitous sounds of delight.

"You want some?" Dean asked when there were only a few bites left. He was really hoping Castiel would say no.

Castiel waved his hands dismissively. "It's for you, Dean."

"Oh my God…" Dean moaned and devoured the rest, thinking it was the most wonderful thing he had ever put in his mouth. He didn't know what he had done to deserve such pleasure. He would never be able to pay Gabriel back. After finishing, Dean sat with a sugar and syrup laced mouth, fulfilled and purely happy.

"Did you like it?" Castiel asked, eager to hear him say yes. In response, Dean licked his fingers and then licked the white handkerchief.

"It was so good. It was so, so good," Dean sighed, "I wish I could eat only that pie for the rest of my life."

Castiel chuckled, which was something new and beautiful in of itself. Dean looked upon his typically timid companion and decided he would regard him as a true friend from then on. "How? Why? Why would Gabriel get me pie? Why would he send you to give it to me?"

"When you were under the effects of the medicine, you would moan about pie all day. Frank complained so loudly about it that we eventually heard. It's Gabriel's 'welcome back' present," Castiel explained and shrugged, "He thought it was funny."

Dean grinned from ear to ear, a feat made somewhat painful from lack of practice. "Where the hell is Gabe?"

"He was in the yard last time I saw him. He said he was busy writing. I don't know what, but he wanted you to have the pie right away," Castiel said, completely ignorant of the fact that Gabriel had sent him on the errand so he could make a new friend. Gabriel was fascinated by the interest Cas had for Dean and felt it would add to his amusement if he nudged the pair together. Gabriel also knew that Dean preferred Castiel. Currying Dean's favor through the inmate dearest to his heart was something that could ultimately benefit them all.

"Thanks," Dean said. "Thanks for bringing it to me."

"You're welcome," The other man replied. He hesitated before asking his next question. "How are you feeling?"

"Swell," Dean's joy was so exuberant that even the aches in his body were nothing to him. "I'm so fucking swell."

Dean sought Gabriel out soon after. He found the man in his cell, poring over a journal. When Gabriel saw Dean, he shut his book and hid it under his pillow. "Dean-o! Fancy meeting you here."

"Thanks for the pie," Dean said with gratitude.

"You can thank Uriel's wife. She's the artiste," Gabriel beamed and swung his legs over his bed to face Dean. "She makes the best pie. I pulled some strings and got an entire pie. I ate most of it."

"Uriel?" Dean's eyebrows shot up on his face because he was surprised anything good could come from Uriel.

"Yup! Also, Alastair's dead. Another one of Uriel's gifts."

The news collided into him like a comet. Dean had never been happier to hear of the demise of a person in his life. The only death he might have welcomed more was Hitler's. The tension he always carried in his body miraculously lifted, and Dean babbled, "Dead? Dead for good?"

"He's dead-dead. _Muerte_. Six feet under. Swimmin' with the fishes. Sittin' on a throne in Hell," Gabriel answered, but he could see Dean was still stunned, "You'd be surprised, Dean. You would be surprised how long Uriel's been waiting to get too rough with that nogoodnik."

"Wow," Dean exhaled.

"Come here. Let me tell you a thing or two about Uriel. He might be quick to strike, but he's got a good side. If you want to avoid Death by Uriel, you have to avoid a couple of things. Numero Uno, don't insult his wife. Numero Dos, don't insult his…" In the stead of explicitly stating it, Gabriel explained with a gesture. He waved his hand over his own face, suggesting that Uriel's appearance was off limits for ridicule. A man of color didn't often have the opportunity to have the job that Uriel had and rarely had the amount of power he carried. Apart from the warden, Uriel was the highest authority at the institution. The sight of a black man in charge at a white's only prison put many inmates on edge on day one. Uriel was a tough, old vet that knew how to get his way and any man that disrespected him ended up regretting it. Gabriel went on, "You don't look down on Uriel, he looks down on you."

Dean was interested in Uriel's story, but more concerned about the details of the neglect that had led to so much of his suffering. "Why'd it take him so long to do something?"

Gabriel shook his head, thinking Dean was so innocent. "Dean, he didn't do what he did for you. That's another thing. Uriel's glued to his orders, even if he does interpret them with his own flair. When the warden says, 'Jump,' Uriel asks how high. Actually, their whole relationship is odd. You can't cross one without crossing the other. Uriel was waiting for orders, you see. So don't go thinking he's your new best friend."

Dean shrugged and Gabriel laughed.

" _I'm_ Uriel's favorite," Gabriel claimed proudly. Of course, in his mind, Gabriel was convinced he was everyone's favorite. "'Cause he likes a good joke. Under all that law and order, he's got a great laugh. Anyhow, welcome back!"

Gabriel stood and gathered a pile of his dirty laundry. He dumped the smelly garments and sheets in Dean's arms. Dean was taken aback, "What the hell is this?"

"Laundry for the doing. Nothing's free around here," Gabriel smiled and shoved Dean along. Dean made a face, but decided a little bit of laundering wasn't a bad price to pay for an amazing piece of pie.

That night, Dean got another treat in the form of a song. Tender, beautiful notes filled the prison about half an hour after lights went out. They began low and soft, like a comforting caress. Steadily, they rose into an enchanting lullaby. Dean sat up, believing that he was being subjected to an otherworldly tune because it was so lovely and he could not understand the words. When Dean finally recognized the language as French, he knew the voice could belong to no one other than Gabriel. When Gabriel sang, everyone listened. A surreal moment passed through every convict's cage, affecting the murderers, the thieves, and all the rest equally. Dean didn't have to know what the words meant to feel the song's power.

'Dean's Lullaby,' Gabriel called it. He'd been inspired by the Winchester and took the night of his return to make their prison a glorious amphitheater in his honor. Gabriel had decided he would let his fellow inmates judge the worthiness of the song. If he was heckled, he would stop, knowing the song was subpar. Nobody made a sound.

* * *

Things got easier for Dean in the next few days. Since Dean no longer lived in constant terror, he felt more comfortable gravitating towards other people. More often than not, it was Castiel he sought out in the yard. Dean still wasn't well enough to take up any of his duties, so he spent a lot of time reading dime novels about the old West in the fresh air as he waited for Cas. He was flipping through a copy of _The Ox-Bow Incident_ when Castiel declared his desire to start teaching Dean chess. Cas was in love with the game, but Gabriel wouldn't often play with him. Gabriel preferred to run around, bothering anyone that would lend him an ear.

The first game of chess that Cas ever played with Dean ended in four moves. "You son of a bitch," Dean cried. "How'd you do that? That's not fair!"

Dean surveyed the board in disbelief. With patience, Castiel explained, "You have to think ahead."

"I know that!" Dean grumbled, "I wasn't ready. That was just a test game. I haven't played in a long time. Rematch."

Castiel tried to lose the second time, but he still beat Dean in ten moves. The Winchester cursed and fidgeted nervously, thinking that Cas was some kind of chess genius. "Did you want to play with me just to beat me?"

Castiel shook his head, "No. Don't worry, Dean. I wasn't very good when I started playing either."

"He's lying! He came out of the womb a master at that game!" Gabriel exclaimed in passing. "Don't play with him, Dean. It will only end in tears."

Gabriel, perhaps, didn't know that Dean was born with a determined disposition and a competitive streak. Dean raised his eyes to Castiel's face, silently promising to thrash him one day. "Teach me the damn game," Dean grit out.

For days, Dean neglected his Western fantasy worlds to lose at chess. He would read the chess book Castiel had loaned him in the evenings. He learned new strategies and improved, but could never quite best Castiel. Eventually, his passionate desire to beat Cas was overshadowed by the pleasure of their daily conversations.

Prison didn't feel like a part of the world. Dean thought it was more like Limbo and his conversations with Cas were acceptable in this space because Dean was trapped there. No man was there of his choice and they were all waiting for something – death or release. Dean knew he would never have the opportunity to befriend a person that had not been convicted of some crime, so Castiel would have to become every friend on the outside that Dean would never know. In the unusual locale that was void of women and full of beatings Dean had come to worry less about what it might mean if he shared his inner feelings and his past with another man. In fact, he found it felt very good, especially when he shared with Cas.

"Why do you wanna know about my dad?" Dean asked over one of their games.

"Fathers are important, and I can't remember mine," Castiel returned. He'd often wondered about Dean's family and the man that had influenced Dean to join a life of military service.

"Dad was tough," Dean stated as he contemplated his next move. "And he was pretty smart too. Everything I know about cars, I learned from him. I got his toughness, obviously, but Sammy got his brains."

"You sell yourself short, my friend," Castiel commented. Dean wasn't as dumb as he had convinced himself he was.

"Tch," Dean glared at Cas and made his move. "Anyway, Dad's biggest fault was his drinking. I'm surprised I wasn't born soused. He drank a lot before the war, but even more after it. At least that's what Mom would always say."

"The Great War?" Castiel asked.

"The first Great War, yes sir. He scared a lot of kids… Actually, a lot of everyone," Dean grinned as he remembered his terrifying father. He traced a finger over his face as he described John Winchester's most noticeable feature. "He had a scar running from his jaw up to his eye. He got it from standing too close to an explosion. A piece of shrapnel jammed right into his head. Whoosh! Just like that. His whole body was a mess, but people noticed his face first. He was fully deaf in his right ear and half-blind in that eye."

Castiel checked Dean's king, but Dean was too absorbed in telling his father's story to be upset about it.

"I used to want to be just like him. A man's man that commanded respect," Dean frowned in his nostalgia. Although Dean thought Castiel was nothing at all like his father had been, he had a similar aura of authority that he was only recognizing now. "I told you my mom died, right?"

"Yes."

"She died having Sammy and Dad was never the same after that. He stopped taking care of us. He would disappear and drink so much. He was angry all the time. I think he wanted to take revenge for Mom, but there was nobody to take his anger out on. Sam was just a baby. He was the last bit of Mom so Dad loved him best."

"You think he loved your brother more than he loved you?" Castiel inquired.

"I don't 'think,' I know he did. All the time Dad would say, 'Watch out for Sam. Look after your brother.' When he got home he didn't ask how I was doing, he just asked about Sammy and he'd go off the rails if anything happened to Sam. Didn't give a rat's ass about me," Dean declared. "And he gave me a damn whole lot of opportunities to watch out for Sam because he left me alone at home all the time. I did the cooking everyday. I did the laundry, the dishes, and everything else Mom used to do. I took Sam to school and brought him back. All the while, Dad would show up at work when he felt like it, usually drunk. Even so – "

Dean made a move in their game before continuing with his story. "Even with his drinking, he still managed to fix up cars right, which is the only reason he never got fired. Eventually, he drank himself to death."

"I'm sorry," Castiel answered. He had guessed, but hadn't known for certain that Dean's father was dead.

"It didn't make too much of a difference," Dean said, but the look on his face suggested otherwise. "I still did everything. And Dad's dying words were, 'Look out for Sam.'"

Dean was leaving out a lot of information because it was too difficult to tell Castiel that his father had wept and asked to be forgiven for making his life so difficult. The only time Dean remembered his father saying he was proud of him was on the day he died. "I didn't believe he was dying, but he had lowered his immunity and destroyed all his organs. I think he wanted to die."

Castiel settled Dean with a long, searching look. "That's terrible."

"Isn't everything?" Dean countered.

Castiel made his final move. "Checkmate."

Flabbergasted, Dean stared down at the board. "Again? You – you! I was distracted! Rematch, you sly fucker."

Castiel sniggered softly because it was endearing that Dean never gave up. Castiel knew at least one thing that was quite the opposite of terrible and that was Dean. Very little could be anything other than wonderful to Cas when he was around Dean. Amused, Castiel questioned Dean, "Should I let you win next time?"

"You even dare say that to me again and bad things are gonna happen."

"Cas, let him win one. It's boring watching Dean lose all the time," Gabriel said from beneath the bleachers where Dean and Cas were sitting. Their eyes turned downwards to see Gabriel lying on his back staring back up at them. Dean became irritated by the intrusion.

"What the hell are you doing down there?"

"Eavesdropping," Gabriel answered and popped something red and shiny into his mouth. Dean squinted down at him.

"Is that candy?"

"No," Gabriel lied and hid the tin on his chest in his pocket.

"I hope you choke on that not-candy!" Dean shouted, "Quit eavesdropping!"

"No," Gabriel whined and pouted, "Nobody ever wants to have heart-to-hearts with me. This is the only way I get the scoop."

"Nobody tells you nothin' 'cause you're a friggin' blabbermouth!" Dean returned. Gabriel got up from his spot and wandered away, kicking the dirt and grumbling about how he was going to go 'blabber' to the other inmates.

* * *

Dean was soon pushed back into his dishwashing duties even though the doctor hadn't yet cleared him to be on his feet all day. There was another obvious obstacle that only Dean seemed to notice. When Dean was put back on dishwashing duties on a rainy day in April, he stared down at the dirty sink of slop-covered dishes without doing anything. Eventually, the guard known as Edgar passed by the kitchen and confronted Dean.

"What's the problem?" He said, raking his dark, beady eyes around the kitchen.

Dean lifted his broken hand and said, "How the fuck am I supposed to wash these dishes with this cast? Doc says I'm not supposed to get it wet."

"So put a bag on it," The swarthy guard replied and the Winchester shot Edgar a vicious glare.

"You want me to wash dishes with one hand? You're bustin' my chops here, Edgar! Give me a break!" Dean railed.

"Well, what do you expect me to do about it?"

"Take me up to Zachariah. I wanna change duties."

Edgar groaned, but complied. He left Dean face to face with the man Dean couldn't tolerate. As always, Uriel was there to protect the warden. Dean knew he would have to show Zachariah more respect this time around if he wanted to get the assignment he desired most. Dean gave the warden a slight bow and said, "Good afternoon, Warden."

"Dean. What can I do for you?" Zachariah asked with false concern because everything about the warden was a ridiculous farce.

"I'd like to request a change in my duties, sir. I want to be taken off dishwashing."

"Oh? Why is that?"

Dean lifted his hand, "Doc's orders say I can't get this wet."

"Have you tried putting a bag on it?" Zachariah said and Dean resisted rolling his eyes with considerable effort. The warden mused to himself and realized it wouldn't be very efficient for a one-armed man to wash hundreds of dishes. Efficiency was everything. "Hm, well I'm not sure where else we need people. Let me check."

"How about the library, sir?" Dean said as Zachariah flipped through his book of inmate duty appointments. Uriel gave Dean a long look before catching the gaze of the warden.

"We already have a man in the library. Uriel, what's his name?" Zachariah snapped his fingers, "The creepy, icy-eyed guy…"

"Castiel, sir."

"Castiel!" the warden repeated. When he remembered Castiel, an expression of astonishment crossed his face. Inmates never wanted to work with Castiel. Memories flooded back to Zachariah and he recalled that the library could be staffed with up to three people and was in dire need of help. "Nobody likes working with him. Would you be fine working with Castiel?"

"Yes," Dean answered and couldn't help asking, "Why is that? Why don't people like to work with Cas?"

"Cas? Is that what he's going by these days?" Zachariah curled his lip in distaste. He looked at Dean like he was an idiot with a death wish. The warden decided it was best not to explain anything to Dean because he didn't know if anyone would ever volunteer to work in the library again. "No reason. Library it is."

"Thank you, sir."

"My pleasure, Dean," Zachariah said. He gave Dean a pat on the back as he led him out of his office. "I did tell you I would extend my hospitality whenever possible. Enjoy the library. Castiel will explain your duties."

The day Dean joined Castiel in the library should have marked a significant turning point for the better in Dean's life. He had hoped it would, but it didn't. Castiel explained the procedures for checking out books to the other inmates and returning them. He showed Dean every aspect of the library and explained the new archiving system he was devising. Dean found it all to be dreadfully monotonous. He respected the written word, but he was meant to work on cars. He needed hand's-on labor and mechanical challenges. The books were smelly and eternally being moved by other inmates. The shelves were dusty and many were broken. Dean spent a long time fixing the shelves and desks. In the beginning of his new assignment, he was more of a carpenter than a librarian and he liked it better that way.

It wasn't just the tediousness of the job that made Dean's mood spiral downwards. It wasn't just the fact that he knew he might live to do the job he was doing now until he was an old man. Dean was tormented by things that lived only in his mind. He hadn't told a soul, even Cas, about his reoccurring nightmares. He dreamt of Alastair taunting him from Hell because Alastair was such a severe wound that even his death could not complete Dean's peace. Worse than those dreams, Dean had a dream about Lisa that disturbed him on such a level that he fought his body's need for sleep, letting the skin beneath his eyes develop heavy, dark circles of unrest. He dreamt this dream about Lisa more than he dreamt about Alastair's ghost.

The nightmare always began with a cloud of black smoke. The cloud was stifling and inescapable. Smoke injected his lungs like gaseous acid, burning him from the inside. Suffocated, Dean would see Lisa, not as the woman she had been, but as a black-eyed, knife-wielding killer. Dean would beg Lisa to stop until he was a sobbing mess. He smelled and tasted blood and heard her blame him for her murder, using coarse, crude language. She hated him with a fury that made Dean forget Lisa had ever loved him at all. Dean would wake up remembering that he had killed the mother of the boy he had called his son. In the dark, he would cry and wordlessly plead for death because he was wearing so thin. Dean wished for the ability to take back what he had done. If he had known what he knew now, he would have let Lisa kill him. Maybe she had lied about her violent plans for Ben. Maybe she really had wanted him dead all along and his death could have been the end of their struggle.

Dean felt worthless to the world now.

Castiel didn't know how bad it was until Dean didn't show up to work one day. It was a Thursday. Cas looked out of the windows at the rising sun and an unsettling feeling perched itself on his chest. Cas climbed down the ladder he had been on and walked with purpose to Dean's cell. It was empty, as he expected to find it. Cas' hunch led him to the bathroom with the communal showers. He found Dean standing in front of one of the pipes on the wall, holding a makeshift noose made out of cloth.

Castiel wasn't surprised because he recalled another man that had made a similar move years ago. This time, it hurt so much more because it was Dean. There was something brilliant within Dean that was hidden under mountains of pain. Castiel addressed him with a steady tone, "The pipe will break from your weight."

Dean gripped the cloth in his hands more tightly. His eyes moved down, unseeing. Castiel's voice kept him grounded, but only just barely. Dean didn't respond. Castiel approached his unmoving figure. "Don't try it."

"I want to," Dean replied softly. A tear rolled down his cheek. He felt dead inside already and didn't know why it was wrong to want his corporeal prison to be equally lifeless.

"I don't want you to," Castiel answered.

"I made it up, Cas. I'm a fucking liar," Dean cried quietly and his shoulders began to tremble. "I know what I saw. I know I couldn't have seen what I saw. I-It's…it's not possible. Demons don't exist. I killed her. Just her."

When Castiel eased forward, Dean pressed his hands hard into his face, getting his cast and his cloth noose damp with his agony. Dean felt sick to his core when he thought about how he had turned Ben into an orphan and killed Lisa well before it was her time to go. "I oughta be dead," Dean whimpered, "I deserve to die. How could I do something like that? How could I?"

_To Lisa…beautiful Lisa. Why did I kill you?_

Castiel considered Dean's words. He considered the fact that it was possible that Dean had lied to him the first time he told him his story. Cas wondered if he would feel differently about Dean if Dean had killed his wife because he wanted to. If he didn't, would that make Cas a bad person?

"What possible reason could you have had to kill her?" Castiel asked.

Dean didn't have an answer to that. He'd reasoned that he was a despicable person, but he still hadn't been able to reason why he had done such a despicable thing. If there was nothing supernatural about his case, there had to be a motive grounded in ordinary logic. "I never loved her. I never loved her like she loved me," Dean suggested. Despite the truth of his words, he didn't believe that was the reason. Desperately, he went on, "Maybe I did go crazy. Maybe, for a second, I was out of my mind."

Dean turned to look at Castiel and regarded him through a river of tears. He was so full of hate for himself that his body weakened and he lowered himself to the dirty, tiled floor and hunched there like a heap of trash. Dean sobbed into the noose silently and heard Castiel sit down next to him. "I don't think that's what happened," Castiel said. "I think the first story you told me was the truth."

"N-No. It wasn't. Demons are just things bad people make up as excuses for bad behavior," Dean shook and wiped his nose. "There ain't no thing. Only bad people, and I'm one of 'em."

"That isn't true."

Dean looked up at Castiel, wondering why he cared. Dean wasn't sure he could trust the word of another criminal. "How do you know?"

"There's a ghost in the closet."

Castiel's words struck Dean as being so odd that he stopped crying, full stop. "What?"

"There's a ghost in the closet."

"I heard what you said! Why does that matter?"

"Because if there's ghosts, there could be other things too." Castiel stood and offered Dean his hand. Dean was in so much misery, but the thought of a ghost in the closet intrigued him.

"Really?" He hiccupped.

Castiel beckoned Dean with his hand. "I'll show you."

Suicide could be postponed for now, he decided. Dean took Castiel's hand and let the man pull him to his feet. The Winchester wiped his face clean and followed Castiel on weak legs to a janitor's closet that was no longer in use. Castiel went in first and told Dean to shut the door after he had joined him. The space was cluttered, tight, and pitch black. Never would Dean have expected that he would end up in a darkened closet with Castiel that day. Dean swallowed and sniffled up the last bit of his tears. "Turn on the light."

"There is no light, Dean," Castiel replied mysteriously. He pointed up to the blub overhead. "No light will ever shine in this place."

Unnerved, Dean looked up at the bulb and his eyes gradually adjusted to the dark to be able to trace its faint outline. So far Dean thought the creepiest thing in this closet was Castiel. "Bad wiring," Dean reasoned, "I don't see anything haunted about this damn closet."

A box fell on Dean's head with a sharp thunk. The Winchester cursed and rubbed his scalp. Castiel gasped and pulled Dean away from the shelf. "That's the ghost."

Dean huffed and scoffed. "Are you fucking kidding me? This is bullshit, Cas. This isn't funny. Stop horsin' around."

"Dean! Listen to me!" Castiel hissed. "The ghost moves things. Nobody can ever be in here for more than five minutes. It doesn't like intruders and that's why this closet is never used."

"An old rickety shelf! Wiring that doesn't work! Who wants a closet with no working light? There's nothin' special about this damn closet."

Something, like a runaway screw or nail, rolled around on the shelf behind Castiel. _Mice_ , Dean hypothesized. Castiel pulled Dean closer out of concern for his safety. In a whisper, inches from his ear, Cas said, "There was an inmate that died in this prison. He would hide in this closet to avoid beatings. He was small and afraid. His spirit could never overcome his fear and it inhabits this closet, believing it will be safe here. His bloody cap still lies somewhere in this closet."

Dean felt a sharp chill run through his spine. Castiel had never been particularly good at telling stories, but this one hit close to home and had an essence of authenticity. "How do you know all that?"

"Research. Shh, listen," Castiel urged. A moaning creak and tiny taps fell on their ears, giving Dean the shameful desire to dive into Castiel's arms. _Nothing special about creaky old pipes_. It was just a closet and a creepy story, Dean told himself. Yet, the darkness felt more unwelcome with every passing second. Dean felt a stifling pressure that reminded him of the black cloud of his dream. Everything was very still. Suddenly, the bulb above them began to swing gently and something rustled.

 _The wind. It's just the wind._ Despite his reassuring thoughts, Dean's fingers curled into Castiel's denim jacket. Something heavy fell.

"O-Okay! Enough closet time!" Dean bolted out of the closet, dragging Castiel with him. He stepped away from the dark, abandoned haven and found that his breath had hastened from whatever experience they had just had.

"It's the ghost, Dean. Everyone leaves that closet with that feeling," Castiel explained. Regardless of what he said, Cas appeared quite calm.

"What about you?" Dean asked, "Does it spook you?"

"I don't like it. There's something not right about that closet."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel shares what little he knows about himself with Dean. Gabriel introduces Dean to a new friend and helps Dean with his nightmares. A challenge arises for the trio when bad news reaches the prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sing the title to this fic almost every time I look at it. Listen to "Folsom Prison Blues" by Johnny Cash and you'll understand. If you haven't before, you should definitely listen to it because it's the best prison song ever written.
> 
> Special thanks to thejourneyseemsendless (kore_kk) for assisting me with Italian in this chapter. :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Dean's nightmares didn't subside, but his visions of Lisa and Alastair became increasingly infiltrated by his old memories and nightmares of war, which were sometimes more horrifying than his other terrors. He fought Nazis in his sleep, as he had once done in his waking hours. Dean woke up feeling his shoulder throb where he had been struck by a German bullet and didn't know if the pain was real or just in his head. He grinned wryly when he realized he missed the days when Nazis haunting him at night were the worst of his problems.

Each day after breakfast, Dean would eagerly run to the library to work with Cas, whose mere presence comforted him. Castiel's calm and steady demeanor and his confidence in his beliefs countered Dean's fidgetiness and turmoil quite well. Being around Castiel was soothing like resting on a boat on a tranquil lake. Dean and Cas became so attached to each other that it was uncommon to see one without the other far behind.

When the library was vacant except for them, Dean would chatter to Cas through rows of shelves. "You don't remember your father. You don't remember where you're from. Don't you think that's odd, Cas?"

"Very."

"You got any guesses where you might be from?" Dean questioned cautiously. Apart from the twelve years Castiel had spent in prison so far, he did not seem able to remember much else. Dean suspected his memory loss was due to severe psychological or physical trauma. He was careful when he question Castiel because he didn't want to trigger anything unpleasant in his friend.

Castiel became pensive and halted his shelving, "I was arrested in Illinois, but that isn't my home state. All I can tell you is that I grew up around mountains. I remember white mixing with blue. Snow."

Castiel could see the mountains in his mind's eye. They were beautiful and expansive, always snowy at the peaks. Castiel liked the cold and the snow. Dean got down from the ladder he was on to pull out a large rolling map of the kinds used at schools. He beckoned Castiel to his side. "We can figure this out. There's only so many mountains in the world." Dean pointed to the first mountain range that caught his eyes. "The Himalayas."

Castiel smiled, "I don't think so, Dean."

"Yeah, me neither. Hm... Appalachia?"

"It's no use. I can never remember no matter how I try."

"You could be from Europe or Eurasia. Maybe a refugee. The Soviet Union has a lot of mountains _and_ snow."

"Well, I do speak Russian," Castiel said, cocking his head to the side.

Dean became affected by excitement and wonder at learning a new detail about his friend. "No kidding? That's incredible! I didn't know that. You've gotta be Russian!"

"I hate to disappoint you, but, uh..." Embarrassed, Castiel quietly admitted, "I can speak five different languages fluently. I speak English, Russian, Spanish, French, and Italian."

"Fluently?" Dean gaped. His esteem for Cas grew markedly. He had suspected Castiel was a genius, but now he was convinced. Dean had never met a sexier, more powerful brain. "Fuck, Cas. What the hell are you doing here? You oughta be president of something, or a professor. Chess, books, languages? You've got a lot of savvy. A heck of a lot."

"Please don't tell anyone," Castiel begged. What Dean saw as impressive, others regarded as frightening and bizarre.

"Why not? You're brilliant and you oughta be proud. I'd love to have some of those brains."

"People already think there's something wrong with me. I came in here only knowing English. I learned the rest in a year."

"A year? One year? Fuck me, Cas," Dean asked incredulously, "How the hell does a person learn so many languages in a year?"

"Once you know one romance language, it's rather simple to learn the rest. Spanish was the first one I learned and it just came to me easily. Gabriel helped me a little. He liked being able to talk to me in secret – said it was a sign that we were meant to be brothers. I suppose with Russian I just had too much time on my hands…" Castiel answered modestly. _Before you_. The library had been full with the sounds of Castiel's records before Dean came to fill the building with his pleasant chatter. Cas' interest in languages had been kindled when he first began to become friends with Gabriel. Soon, Castiel surpassed his friend in knowledge. His desire to learn Russian had originated from his interest in world affairs. Castiel continued, "This is my twelfth year here so I've had a lot of time. I thought, why not? I always wanted to be able to read the Russian on the newsreels and in the papers. I was fascinated by the look of it. Crazy Martin thinks I'm a spy now. Or a super soldier."

Dean scoffed, "Nobody listens to Martin. And what the hell's he mean a super soldier? Like Steve Rogers?"

"Who's Steve Rogers?"

"Who's Steve Rogers, he says! Captain America! Sheesh, you've been put away too long. He's a superhero, super soldier that came out a few years ago. He's got this kooky costume and everything. Still, he's got nothing on Batman." When Cas gave him another confused look, Dean exhaled, "Comics, Cas! I used to buy them for Ben."

Dean may have bought them for Ben, but sometimes he would enjoy them more than the boy. Superheroes were a delightful new phenomenon less than a decade old that Dean would have loved to have had growing up. Dean explained the origin stories of Batman and Captain America to Cas as they got back to work.

"So that's why Batman is the best. He doesn't need super powers, but he's still a superhero. I think he's gonna be big, maybe bigger than Superman. Anyway...What was I saying? Oh yeah. You've got super brains and you shouldn't be embarrassed to use them. Who gives a damn what Crazy Martin or anyone else has to say? If you want to learn more languages you should. Learn whatever you want. I'll be damned, this is America, Cas. Land of the free."

Slowly, Castiel parted the books on his shelf to peer over at Dean through a few shelves in front of him. He watched, more than he listened, to the other man as Dean praised his 'wits' and 'brains' with candid admiration. Castiel felt his fondness for Dean grow into something grander. It became something strong and unfamiliar and he welcomed the feeling gladly because it made him feel like he was on the moon. A question was directed at Cas.

"Hey, you mind sayin' something in one of those languages you know? I'd sure like to hear it."

Castiel did not have to contemplate for long before replying heartfelt words in Italian. "Sei l'uomo più bello che abbia mai visto. I tuoi occhi sono così verdi e sempre sinceri."

_You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Your eyes are so green and always sincere._

"Wow!" Dean remarked, smiling. The phrases spoken in Cas' deep voice sounded so romantic and appealing to his ears. Dean recognized the language almost immediately. "That's Italian."

When Castiel replied in the affirmative, Dean asked what the words meant and Castiel knew he had to lie. "It's from a love poem. It doesn't translate well, but it's about the most beautiful girl in the world."

"I thought so! Geez, I never would have figured you as a fella into romantic poems," Dean sighed, "Italians. Poor, fascist bastards have such a beautiful language. That's where I got shot, you know. Italy."

Dean never volunteered to talk much about the war, but when he did, he opened up to Cas. Of all his wartime enemies, Dean regretted having to battle Italians the most. Lisa's favorite restaurant had been an Italian one and Dean had come to know more than one pleasant Italian family both in the US and abroad. Since he had been stationed in Sicily and across mainland Italy, Dean had seen more than his fair share of weeping Mediterranean women and children and lost, shattered men. The Italian government may have oppressed their Jewish citizens under Hitler's influence, but Dean had come to regard its citizens as a confused, conflicted, and tortured people that generally rejected Mussolini and the Nazi agenda that strangled the northernmost part of their devastated country. Dean had sympathy for them because the Italians he'd met had been such a tired lot with a history of being subjugated by extremist policies.

Perhaps one day, Dean thought, he would tell Cas more about his experiences abroad. For now, it was too fresh. Dean looked at Cas, thinking he could easily belong to any of the countries of all the languages he spoke. Cas could be anything, from anywhere, and Dean would cherish him all the same - with one exception. "Hey, Cas, would you promise me just one thing?" Dean asked, "Promise you won't learn German."

Castiel could not see Dean's face anymore, but he saw the stillness in his body and understood that the request was an important one. "I promise."

* * *

Dean was eager to establish a workout routine as the other men did, but his injuries posed significant obstacles. He could keep up with Gabriel on the track when his healing cracked ribs didn't bother him too much, but he could not yet join Castiel in lifting weights due to his broken arm. One day, out of sheer stubbornness, Dean decided to try out his good arm.

Unfortunately, his 'good arm' was connected to the shoulder that had been shot. Dean wouldn't let the fact that he was a lump of pain get in the way of doing some pushups. He didn't like the idea of letting his muscles waste away so he got on the dusty ground and tried to do some one handed pushups. At his best, Dean had been able to do around twenty reps on each arm before feeling winded. Today, he struggled with seven and killed himself to get to ten. As soon as he reached his goal, he regretted having attempted to exercise with his damaged body. Dean remained prone on the ground, exhaling miserable, ragged breaths. From his position, he saw a pair of shoes before him. When Dean lifted his flushed face he saw someone new.

The stranger looked younger than Dean, wore specs, and had a vibrant mop of reddish-orange hair. He was pale, freckled, and lean bodied. Evidently, he had a serious staring problem. Dean didn't know how long he had been watching, but he didn't like the thought of being a spectacle. "Get lost, kid."

The youthful male pushed up his glasses and nodded nervously as a blush crept up on his face. As he made a move to slink away, Gabriel's hand clasped down on his shoulder to keep him in place. "Finally! Dean, you met good ol' Charlie!"

Dean shot his eyes to Gabe. "You know this kid?"

"I know everyone. You did introduce yourself, right?" Gabriel turned to the mortified redhead. "Charlie? Rats. Would you settle down? I told you Dean's my pal."

Charlie had a few inches on Gabriel, but none of his ease or self-assurance. The newcomer thought Dean was Intimidating with a capital 'I.' Wounded and tattered beyond all imaging, Dean was still stronger and tougher than Charlie had ever been in his life. Like Dean, Charlie had an affinity for comics. Charlie's comic book knowledge was encyclopedic, and he thought if ever a real person could be like Captain America, it would be Dean. Shaking, Charlie offered Dean his hand after the Winchester was standing. "Charlie Bradbury's the name."

Dean shook his hand and said, "Dean Winchester. Pleasure."

"Charlie joined us while you were in the infirmary," Gabriel explained. It was no wonder Charlie was so timid. He was clearly still in shock of the new life he was living and unused to the sight of ruffians like Dean. Gabriel elaborated, "He's like Cas, a total egghead. He's a tinkerer. He fixed the warden's phonograph and he's working on the reel-to-reel so we can watch pictures again! So be nice to him. Charlie's worth his weight in gold."

Dean nodded and strained to smile. Gabriel always befriended those he believed to be of value and it looked like Charlie was his latest project. "That'll be nice," Dean said, "Having something new to do around here. No point in newsreels without the reel-to-reel."

Dean desperately wanted to hear news about the war because he still had many comrades serving in addition to Sam. Charlie fidgeted and, with more confidence, added, "I've been put on maintenance, so if you ever need somethin' fixed, I'm your man."

Dean's smile widened as Charlie's worth became clear. "Thanks."

Charlie nodded and wandered off unceremoniously, leaving Gabriel to approach Dean with a grin. "I've got more business with you."

"Huh? What kind of business?"

Gabriel led Dean away from the center of the yard and over to the side of the bleachers where they would be partially concealed. He produced a bottle of something from his jacket and Dean perked up, thinking it was whiskey. He was about to be disappointed. "For a price, this potion can be all yours."

"If it's not whiskey, I don't want it," Dean replied and began to move away. Gabriel was always peddling something.

"You're going to want this, Dean-o. It's something more valuable than whiskey," Gabriel leaned in and softly explained, "It's a cure for nightmares."

Dean halted. He hadn't told anyone about his nightmares. "What makes you think I'd need that?"

"If you don't want it, I'm sure I can find other takers."

"What do you want for it?" Dean asked.

"My chores for a week."

"Hell no! Are you nuts?" Dean narrowed his eyes. "It's probably a bottle of piss anyway. Peddle somewhere else."

"Piss? I'm offended! Do you really think I would do that to you?" Gabriel took a sip of the liquid and sloshed it around his mouth. He gargled and then swallowed. "Mm, I feel better already."

Dean regarded Gabriel suspiciously. "Where'd you get that?"

"I got this guy..." Gabriel said shiftily. Noting Dean's skepticism, he drew the Winchester close and pointed out a man in the yard. He was a grave, scowling man with salt and pepper hair that was brooding alone. "Don Stark. He's a genuine witch. He knows how fix up problems regular medicine can't. He made this potion and it's real special, Dean. He might never make another."

"Bull. Witches are broads, everyone knows that."

"Everyone that's got shit for brains. He's the real McCoy. Wizard, warlock, if you want. Why do you think he's locked up? Abusing black magic in a real bad way. Got some people killed. His woman ratted him out. She was a witch too. A backstabber. Donny knows dark magic and the good kind. This potion is some of the good kind. How do you think I know about your nightmares? Don, he told me. And how did Don know? Magic, Dean..." Gabriel wagged his eyebrows, "Magic."

Between Gabriel and Cas, the world was one big mystical place. Dean scoffed, _demons, ghosts, witches._

"Malarkey," Dean grumbled, but was unsettled that his nightmares were common knowledge. Dean had trouble recognizing when Gabriel was being honest and when he wasn't because he was made of half-truths. Dean thought the witch story was an obvious tall tale, but that it was possible the 'potion' could be worthwhile. Dean had once heard there were natural remedies to aid in peaceful sleep, and his nightmares were bad enough for him to consider trying anything.

"I'll lower the price, just for you...because we're such good pals."

"Uh-huh."

"A kiss," Gabriel said softly, catching Dean by surprise. Dean was so alarmed and baffled by the request that Gabriel had to repeat it.

"You want me to kiss you?" Dean stuttered with revulsion. "Why?"

"Hey! Shush! Shut up! I'm bored, that's why. It'll amuse me. Don't look at me like that! I'm still a skirt-chaser... There just aren't any skirts around here... I kind of miss... the romance..." Gabriel muttered wistfully. Gabriel had passed seven years in incarceration and never once stopped longing for his younger years as a womanizer. He missed dancing, smooching, and charming as many women as he could at once. He loved the adventure of a new lay and the charade that came with making a new woman believe she was one of a kind, or, as Gabriel called it, _romance_. Beaten as he was, Dean was still beautiful enough to serve as some kind of a replacement.

Gabriel refused to look at the Winchester because he was thinking about his gorgeous mouth and his enormous emerald eyes that were framed by lengthy eyelashes.

Gabriel's request and the sincerity with which it was proposed, amazed Dean. To even suggest such a thing, Dean knew Gabriel must have trusted him a great deal. He ruminated over the offer. Dean had also not kissed another person in a long while and he thought the exchange was more than a generous deal for whatever elixir was in the bottle. With these thoughts in mind, Dean stole away all the courage he could and grabbed Gabriel's face to plant a hasty, forced kiss on his mouth. Dean shut his eyes tightly, pretending Gabriel was a cute girl, which was almost possible since the man had relatively long hair. Gabriel gasped and responded. Too quickly, it was over.

The first thing Gabriel did was complain. He wiped his mouth and moaned, " _Mon Dieu!_ You call that a kiss? I said _romance_ , not whatever that was!"

"Why you little! There's nothing wrong with my kissing! You're the one that just isn't - " Dean snarled and made a sound of aggravation. "One more and you get nothing else!"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and crushed their lips together a second time. Gabriel pulled Dean close and deepened their kiss. He could not believe the Winchester had voluntarily kissed him twice. Excitement of the type he had always wanted filled Gabriel's veins. The second kiss was a marked improvement. Gabriel was a greedy, fearless kisser. Dean kissed Gabriel for longer than he had ever wanted just to show him that he was talented and he knew very well how to sweep a person off her or his feet. _That'll show you_ , Dean thought. _Damn Gabe._

When they parted, Gabe grinned like a pampered cat.

"Good practice. Now for the real one," Gabriel said and tried to latch onto Dean again, but his face was blocked by Dean's busted hand. He was pushed away and caught an unpleasant whiff of Dean's dirty cast.

"No! A deal's a deal! Give me the damn potion!" Dean growled. Kissing Gabriel had been like kissing his brother. Unfortunately, Dean knew from experience. The peck he had given Sam had been short, awkward, and never spoken of again. Dean had only kissed one other man besides Sam and Gabriel, and he had been so drunk at the time that he hadn't cared. Kissing men was something Dean was able to do if he concentrated very hard or was under the right circumstances.

"Alright, Romeo. One kiss for one potion. You earned it." Gabriel tossed Dean the bottle and Dean unscrewed the lid to sniff it. The potion had an earthy smell.

"What do I do with it?"

Gabriel made a motion with his hand and said, "Drink up."

Dean took a large gulp, furrowed his brow, and then drank a few more sips. "This tastes like... this tastes like... tea," Dean drank some more of the liquid and his face fell flat. "It is tea."

Gabriel finally busted out into the laughs he had been holding in. Of course it was tea. The sight of Dean's oncoming rage prompted Gabriel to run like the wind, chortling all the while. Dean chased him and shouted, "You rat bastard!"

Gabriel was in such hysterics that he couldn't summon the energy to run fast enough to escape Dean's grasp. He was tackled to the ground where Dean wrestled him angrily. Gabriel wouldn't fight back and that made their wrestling match one-sided and awkward. Gabriel only continued to double up into a fit of hilarity.

"Lying son of a bitch!" Even if Gabriel was an asshole, Dean could not bring himself to really hurt him. Finally, Dean felt eyes upon them and looked up to see a number of men staring, some of them laughing along with Gabriel. Castiel, Edgar the guard, Charlie, and even Death were among the people watching them. Dean could tell from their faces that they had seen more than just their chase and wrestling match. That became the most embarrassing moment of Dean's life.

* * *

Dinner initiated unhappily with Dean and Cas eating their chow in silence. In spite of his reputation, Dean never minded sitting next to Death because Death was quiet and he scared away all the scumbags. Dean sat by Death and Castiel, fuming until Castiel addressed the issue he was having.

"Don't be embarrassed," Castiel said softly, "Gabriel played a similar trick on me once."

At this, Dean lifted his eyes to Castiel's face. He curled his lip at the thought of Castiel and Gabriel kissing and wondered how anyone could trick a person as smart as Castiel. Cas looked away, "Of course it took Gabriel about three years to attempt such a thing on me."

"Hey, Cas. Not helping."

The cause of Dean's fretting boldly set his tray right at his side, to Dean's astonishment. Dean gave Gabriel a sharp, furious look. It didn't even need to be said that he had no desire to be around Gabriel. The incorrigible man smiled at him because he'd been in a great mood ever since their kiss.

"Oh, Dean, _mi_ _amor_ ," Gabriel swooned. "I'll never forget it. A kiss of true love."

"I'm about to break your face."

"I said we were pals and I did get you a cure for your nightmares," Gabriel replied without missing a beat. He pulled a small bundle from his jacket and set it next to Dean's plate. It was a tiny cotton bag with unknown contents.

"I bet you expect me to suck you off for that. Not gonna happen."

"Whoa, Dean. I'd take it if you offered, but this one's on the house," Gabriel said, "This is what Donny wanted me to give you in the first place. It's a freebie from him."

"I don't want it."

"C'mon!" Gabriel leaned over the table and peered at Dean. He was pushing it and he knew it so he explained the situation honestly, "Dean, Don is two cells down from you. He sleeps as light as a feather and can hear you at night. That's how he knows about your nightmares. You talk in your sleep."

Dean clutched his fork, frowning wretchedly. _First the pie, now this._ Grinding his teeth together, he replied, "What else does Donny say?"

"Nothin'! He wouldn't tell me what you say at night, but it was getting under his skin so he made you this special bag and told me to give it to you. I couldn't resist the opportunity to have some fun. Relax."

Dean was still volatile, but always curious, "What the hell is it?"

"It's a hex bag," Gabriel responded in wonder. He really believed in witches and was mystified by Don. The bag was full of bits of anise and morning glory, but Gabriel preferred to think it was full of magic and only magic. "A good hex bag, I promise. All you have to do is put it under your pillow at night and it'll swallow all your bad dreams."

There was no such thing as magic, Dean thought. He stared at the bag with apprehension and Gabriel sighed, "Just give it a try. It won't hurt you. It's just a little bag of leaves. Word of advice, don't open it. If you do, the magic might escape."

Dean didn't speak another word to Gabriel, but when dinner was over, he took the bag. He told himself he would throw it away after ripping it open, but he never did. That night, Dean sat on his bed and examined the object carefully. He could ascertain that it wasn't full of insects or anything else living that might try to get him at night. The bag did not have an unpleasant odor either. Nobody would see if he used it, so Dean slipped it under his pillow in the dead of night. When he slept, he slept without any dreams.

* * *

After the first night, Dean thought it was a coincidence that he had not had any nightmares while sleeping with the so-called 'hex bag.' But, the second night without nightmares increased Dean's curiosity tenfold. He very much wanted to open the bag, but he was afraid it would stop working if he did. By the third night, Dean decided he didn't care how it worked, as long as it did. So, Donny was some kind of medicine man, Dean reasoned, but that didn't mean he was a witch. Maybe he knew a little bit about herbs that other people didn't know. Dean didn't care to know his methods and he didn't really like Don either. Don disliked Dean less after he stopped moaning at night, but he still refused to talk to him. For a criminal, Don was pretty stuck up. They went on with their lives as they had before, but with more restful nights and nobody ever spoke of the hex bag again.

Dean avoided Gabriel for a few days and went about his work with Castiel calmly. The bags under his eyes disappeared and health returned to his face. Dean's mood lifted and he thought, for once, he was finally living prison life with minimal suffering. His cast would be off next week so he would soon have two free hands. Aside from a small mark on his nose, there was no other indication that Dean's nose had ever been broken. His bruises were gone and his ribs were almost completely mended. He went to bed with less fear and woke up more refreshed. One day soon after receiving the little bag of magic, Dean returned to his cell to see that he had a new letter on his bed. Excited, but nervous, he approached the envelope and read his brother's name written beautifully on the front.

"Sammy," Dean smiled at the paper. He was so happy to touch something his brother had recently touched, in part, because it meant that Sam was still alive. He opened the letter impatiently and read.

 

> _Dear Dean,_
> 
> _It's a bloodbath over here. It's a senseless waste. We're dropping like flies. I don't know what to believe in anymore. I can't do this without you. Please write me. I just need to hear some piece of good news from home so I can remember that good things still exist. We lost Balthazar the other day. Balthazar was the best of us._
> 
> _Balthazar, Dean. One of the last things he said was that he'd always wanted to 'shag' you. He wanted you to know that. That cheeky bastard died with a smile on his face. He joked until the end. Before Balthazar, I lost Kevin. We promised to watch out for each other and I lost sight of him for a second. I was too worried for my own skin. He's missing now, probably dead, and it's my fault. Even if he's captured that isn't much better. Kevin trusted me and I betrayed him. Everyone is leaving me. I can't have you leave me too. Something is wrong. I know something happened over there and I want you to know that, whatever it is, you can tell me. Bobby won't write me. Jess won't write. Jo won't write. Lisa won't write. Is everything okay over there? Please tell me things are fine at least back home._
> 
> _I feel like I may never step on American soil again. Never have a beer with you again. I came into this world killing mom so maybe it's right for me to leave it getting killed. At least I'll finally get to meet her if I do die. But I don't want to die. I want to go home so badly, everyone does. Even Garth won't smile anymore. Some loons are going around saying we're winning this thing, but I don't trust anything anymore. If we are winning… at what cost?_
> 
> _I'm not strong enough to do this without you. You've always been stronger and better than me. I wasn't made to do this like you were. The family business of getting scarred and dying young wasn't something I was meant for. Compared to you and Dad, I'm a damn coward. I joined up because I wanted to follow you. Did you know that? I hate to write like this, but I have to tell you the truth in case I don't make it back._
> 
> _I never appreciated you for everything you do. I'm sorry for ever having been a spoiled, selfish brat. You were more than my brother. You were my mother and my father. You're the most important thing I have left and I have almost nothing else. For the love of all things holy, please tell me you still think of me. Please tell me it's silent back home for a good reason. Even if it's not, write._
> 
> _Write anything. Everything._
> 
> _I need you more than ever before. I need to hear your voice through your terrible handwriting so I won't feel so alone and so scared at night. The only thing I can hear anymore is bullets and bombs. I hear them even when it's perfectly still. I'm so tired. I know you don't like to pray, but will you pray for me? Maybe God will listen to you, because He has stopped listening to me._
> 
> _I love you, no matter what. Forever._
> 
> _Your little brother,_
> 
> _Sammy W._

Again, Dean was reduced to tears. Large, salty dollops trailed down his face and he felt like another piece of himself had died. He may not have deserved freedom, but Dean knew he was meant to be out there with Sam, making sure that he survived the day. There was too much anguish in the letter to comprehend it all at once. Dean settled down into his bed and read the letter again. _Balthazar dead. Kevin lost. Sammy alone._

Dean's fingers brushed over a small square that was still in the envelope. He pulled it out and saw it was a photograph of Sam, Kevin, Garth, and Balthazar. Sam was standing tall and proud in the middle and wasn't wearing any shoes. Garth was giving a thumb's up at Sam's right, holding a bottle of beer in the other hand and flashing a drunken grin. Beside Garth, Kevin was striking a manly, warrior-like pose and appeared to be full of energy despite the bloody bandage wrapped around one of his hands. Balthazar was hanging to Sam's left, saluting sarcastically and cracking a smile like he was at a glorious parade. Dean flipped the picture over and saw 'The Gang' written simply on the back.

At that moment, Dean thought he would gladly murder every prison guard and the warden to get out of prison just to jump on the first plane to Sam. His heart broke at the thought of Sam terrified, hurting, and gradually losing all of his friends. Dean had never before been in a position where he could not be there for Sammy. The eldest Winchester felt so helpless and angry that he destroyed parts of his cell in a burst of frustration. He flipped over his bed, wishing he could transfer his violence upon Sam's enemies – whoever they were.

Sam could die. If he did, Dean would never be able to see his coffin or go to his funeral. He would never breathe the same air as Sam again and that fact filled Dean with a horror unlike the others he had suffered in prison. While things remained maddeningly the same inside, the outside world was ripping itself to pieces.

Charlie passed by Dean's cell at just the wrong moment and beheld Dean in his rage. The young, redheaded man stared and then ran, fearing that Dean had lost his mind. Dean wouldn't leave his cell. He was plotting a way to fulfill his plan to kill the guards to escape. Somehow, he would convince Castiel and Gabriel to help him. The three of them together might be able to do it. They were outnumbered and didn't have guns, but they would find a way. They had to.

Andréal was the first of the guards to investigate Dean after being notified of a disturbance. Naturally, the guard to come to Dean first was the one that most reminded him of Sam when he was younger. They even shared the same first name. It wasn't fair. Dean wouldn't be able to choke the life out of him if he was thinking about _his_ Sam while he did it.

"Dean, do you need help?" Andréal asked. "Are you alright?"

Dean was still sobbing quietly and tried desperately to stop, "I need to get out of here."

Andréal knew what he meant. In moments, Uriel appeared. Uriel tapped his nightstick on the bars of Dean's cage and quirked a brow. "Dean," Uriel said, "You know we aren't going to help you clean up this mess, right?"

Knowing that Uriel had dispatched his worst adversary, Dean hesitated in thinking of ending even Uriel's life, as much as he was a sadistic tyrant most of the time. Dean's poorly thought out escape plan dissolved into nothing and he devised an equally poorly thought out plan in its place. "I need a plane," Dean muttered frantically. He hated flying, but he would fly anywhere for Sam. "I need to get back overseas. You can do that for me, can't you?"

While Uriel laughed a deep, boisterous laugh, Andréal responded incredulously, "You… want to go _back_ to the war?"

"Sometimes I swear you are the craziest one here," Uriel stated.

"I need a plane."

"Well, hate to break it to you, but it ain't gonna happen," Uriel replied matter-of-factly.

"Why the hell not?" Dean smoldered, "I'm going to die here. I might as well die for something. I might as well die over there. It'd be quicker and I'd be outta your hair."

Uriel was unfazed by Dean's despair and vindictiveness. The large guard sighed, "Point is, you don't get to choose where you die. Get your act together, Winchester, or you'll get put into solitary. Clean up this mess. _Now_."

To rattle him, Uriel crashed his nightstick to the bars of Dean's cell. The action and the loud vibrations it elicited were effective in jarring Dean into a state of alertness. Dean wouldn't dare bend to Uriel's will while Uriel was watching, so he did nothing. Dean was obstinately still and thoughtful with his pained inner struggle. Uriel looked up to the heavens, "Dear Lord, please put this boy together before I have to beat his ass. Lock him up, Andréal."

Andréal obeyed and the guards left Dean to wallow alone until he could behave. Uriel's words had a great affect on Dean. Uriel was right; Dean no longer got to choose anything. He didn't get to choose what he ate or what he wore. He couldn't decide when to wake up or when to go to bed. He had a schedule and a routine that was ordained by his calculating overseers. Dean no longer felt human.

Castiel's voice reached Dean after a long while, "Dean?"

Dean looked up from the same spot he had been in when Uriel and Andréal left him. He saw Castiel clutching his bars, wearing an expression of concern. Gabriel was leaning on the bars of the other side of his cell with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't look happy and he kept his mouth shut to let Castiel do all the talking. "They told us you were upset about something," Castiel said, "What happened?"

Dean pulled himself up on his legs and wandered over to his bars with the envelope and letter in his hands. He couldn't yet summon words to his mouth so he handed Castiel Sam's letter. Intrigued, Gabriel moved over to read it with Castiel. The war didn't affect Gabriel and Castiel on the same personal level that it did for Dean, but the contents of Sam's letter stirred tremendous sorrow in both men. Neither had ever met Sam, but they both knew he meant the world to Dean.

Quietly, Dean slipped the photograph to Gabriel and Cas. They stared at it and Dean pointed to the Korean boy first, "Kevin. He just turned 18. A boy genius and a sweet kid. He got more letters and packages than all of us combined. We made fun of him, but we were mostly jealous. Mama Tran would scold us in his letters. Tell us to look out for Kevin."

Kevin was everyone's little brother and Mama Tran was like Dean's late father, single-minded in protecting her child. Dean pointed at Garth next. "Garth. Skinny goof couldn't drink a full beer without get corked. He chews with his mouth open and loves hugs. A dentist-turned-soldier. He used to fix teeth and volunteer at schools in his free time."

"Balthazar…" Dean pointed at Balthazar next and worked hard to control the tone of his voice. Dean grinned at Gabriel and said, "You would have liked him. Alcoholic hedonist. He'd sleep with anything that had a pulse. Funny, charming limey. Um, his… his entire hometown got bombed. Obliterated. We were the last of his family because of that god damned Blitz. _Fucking_ Nazis!"

Balthazar's family had been a fraction of the tens of thousands of lives that had been lost in the strategic bombing of the UK.

Dean made a sound of agony and looked down at his feet, sucking in his lower lip. Balthazar was a person that had been so lively that it was difficult to think of him as gone. Dean couldn't comprehend it. He couldn't believe that the world could go on without Balthazar's dirty jokes and shameless flirtations. Dean rubbed his eyes, thinking of all the times he had gotten drunk with Balthazar. They had shared cigarettes and stories, and watched each other's backs every day.

Finally, Dean pointed at Sam.

"My little brother Sammy. All he ever wanted was to go to college. He's afraid of clowns," Dean halted with a dry laugh, "even though he's got clown feet. His feet are so fucking big he can never find shoes in his size. He lost one of his shoes. That's why his feet are so bloody. He's been wearing a pair that's too small."

Castiel and Gabriel looked from the bleeding, sore-covered feet to the handsome smile on Sam's face.

Dean faltered and wiped the corner of his eye. The thought of Sam wearing shoes too small was only one of many devastating things. Dean gripped the bars of his cell and leaned his forehead against them as he entreated Gabriel and Castiel. "What do I write to him?" he croaked, "What do I write Sammy?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel and Castiel help Dean write to his brother overseas. Depressed and frustrated, Dean picks a fight with Cas.

* * *

A boy genius, a dentist, a pleasure-seeker, and a cherished little brother. The only thing they had in common was that they had no business being at war. There was nothing that could account for the losses and hardships occurring overseas. Yet, their task was to write a letter to Sam that would warm his frightened, broken heart. Gabriel and Castiel had stared at the picture Dean had given them the privilege of seeing long enough to memorize each face and feel like they had known each man at some point. Above the rest, their eyes were drawn to Sam because he was the dearest relative of their agitated friend.

"You sure this is your brother?" Gabriel cut in at last, "He's way too handsome and tall to be your relation."

Castiel thought Gabriel was out of line, but Dean chuckled through his tear-streaked face because that was just the kind of thing Balthazar would have said. Of course, thinking of Balthazar only made Dean think of Balthazar dead. When Dean's face fell, Gabriel reached for him through his bars and pulled him into an embrace. Castiel hesitantly reached his arm out to Dean as well to give him a pat on the back and he let his arm rest over Dean momentarily before drawing it away. Dean didn't struggle and he let Gabriel press him into his body as much as the cold bars between them would allow. Dean was aware of the inherent peculiarity of being held by Gabriel as his cheek pushed into hard metal, but he was too disheartened to complain. Dean needed to be held, although he would never ask to be held.

"Get your room together," Gabriel said quietly through the bars, "When they let you out, we'll come up with the perfect response."

This was the sort of project Gabriel adored. He loved being a part of something that was meant to stir emotions within other people. He was more than happy to be involved in the rallying cry to Dean's dejected little brother. Castiel likewise looked forward to helping Dean because he cared about him and didn't want Dean or anyone connected to Dean to suffer. If Sam was half as incredible as Dean was, Castiel thought he would certainly adore the youngest Winchester as well. Dean pushed his most negative thoughts into the corner of his mind where he hid many other unpleasant, unspeakable things and he set about putting his room in order. He washed his face and wiped it clean until he finally looked almost completely composed.

The guards were satisfied and Dean was lightly chastised before being released. The trio hurried off to the library to set out on their task of comforting Sam. Sam became more than a man and more than Dean's relative. He became a far away idea that none of them would ever see or touch even if he did return safely from the war. The thought that they could influence even one person of the outside world excited Gabriel and Castiel.

"Beautiful Sam. What do we write darling Sam?" Gabriel stroked his chin as he paced around the library, thinking deeply. Having a brother himself, Gabriel knew brotherly love was precious, yet conflicted. Every set of siblings had some manner of rivalry, but when times became tough, good siblings stuck together. This appeared to be especially true for the Winchesters. "Whatever you do, don't mention being in prison," Gabriel said, "Actually, don't mention any of the townsfolk either. You don't know if they might be writing him too. The last thing you want is precious Sam getting conflicting news in different letters."

"I told everyone back home not to write Sammy," Dean said.

Gabriel gave Dean a look that said he believed the Winchester was naïve for thinking he could trust the word of others. "Best not to risk it."

Gabriel's advice was to come up with the sweetest lie possible that could still be believable. The goal was to give Sam some peace of mind, so he couldn't know that the older brother he worshipped had murdered his sister-in-law.

> _Dear Sammy,_
> 
> _I hope you get this letter. I've written you twice before, but I'm not sure if the mail is reliable these days. Don't worry about us back home. We're all doing great. Everyone says hello and hopes you return safely. I've been busy working hard at the garage and Lisa and Ben –_

"I can't do this," Dean grumbled at the paper. His pen was stabbing into the paper, almost piercing directly into the desk. He felt sick looking at the words he had written.

"This is just the first draft, Dean! We'll edit later," Gabriel replied and Castiel peered over Dean's shoulder to look at the words on the paper.

"No. I can't lie to Sammy. I just can't do it."

Gabriel shot Dean another incredulous stare, "Sometimes people need a lie."

"Well, I can't. God damn it. Of all the things I've done, I'm not gonna stoop to being a liar too, least of all to Sammy," Dean growled. He crumpled up the paper and threw it into the bin where such lies deserved to be. He believed it was disrespectful to the memory of Lisa and to Ben to lie about what had happened to them. Dean couldn't and wouldn't lie.

"Listen, amigo. If you want to cheer up this brother of yours, you have to say something nice. Good luck cheering anyone up with a letter that starts, 'Hey, bro. Killed the wife and orphaned the kid, but everything's a-okay'! That's a recipe for disaster. Don't tell him the truth, for the sake of his sanity."

Dean gripped his pen, sighing hopelessly. He wanted to tell Sam the truth so badly, but he knew he couldn't. Gabriel was right. Things were hard enough for Sam already. Castiel pulled a chair next to Dean.

"Just make it short," Castiel suggested, "Say what you want to say while avoiding saying the details that will disturb him. Just say what's important. 'I love you' and 'don't give up.' Eventually, the war will end. All wars do, don't they?"

Gabriel's eyebrows arched on his face. Castiel may have been technically correct on that point.

> _Dear Sammy,_
> 
> _I love you. Never give up._
> 
> _Your brother,_
> 
> _Dean Winchester_

Dean gazed down at the paper. There was something about the simplicity that he adored. All he wanted Sam to know were these two things. No matter what happened, Dean would love Sam and he would want Sam to hang on to hope. In this regard, Dean was a bit of a hypocrite because he had almost no hope left for himself. Still, he would gladly give Sam any positive feelings he had left to help carry him through the war if he could. Gabriel ripped the paper from Dean's hand.

"No! This will _never_ do!" Gabriel hissed and tore the paper in half, disgusted by it. "The boy just poured his soul onto paper. You can never respond with so few lines! Sam bled over his letter. He thought he was going to die! You have to acknowledge his suffering."

"I…I'm not good at that," Dean admitted, "Feelings are Sammy's thing."

"You've got plenty of feelings, Dean. You just have to grow the balls to express them," Gabriel scoffed.

Dean's face turned red. Thinking about expressing his feelings made him sweat. He desperately needed help in this arena, which was the chief reason he'd allowed Gabriel and Castiel to read Sam's incredibly personal letter. Castiel gave Dean a sympathetic look when Dean turned to him for help. Writing people wasn't something Castiel ever did. The only friends he had in the world were in the library with him. Castiel encouraged the Winchester, "We'll help you, Dean. Just write what you want Sam to know most."

In a painstaking process that produced several crumpled sheets of failed attempts, Dean wrote the longest, most emotional letter he may have ever written.

> _Dear Sammy,_
> 
> _You didn't kill mom, so don't dare think that again. You were just a baby and babies are about the only living human beings that are incapable of hurting anything. Mom was excited about you before you were born and she loved you without ever having to see your face. If she could see you now, she'd be proud of you. Just like Dad was proud of you and just like I am. It doesn't have to be said that I think about you all the time. We're family, for fuck's sake._
> 
> _I'm sorry to hear about Balthazar and Kevin. I mourn Balthazar with you. He was something else. But, the last thing he would have wanted would be for you to give up. He was joking till the end to keep your spirits up. That's what he always did. He wanted you to live on._
> 
> _Unless you personally handed him over to the Nazis, Kevin was not your fault. There are some things you just can't control. You know as well as I do that there isn't a person with a heart on this earth that could possibly want to leave Kevin to the dogs. I know you and I know you would have done what you could, but nobody is perfect. Kevin trusted you for a reason and so did Mama Tran. Why do you think Mama Tran always wrote that she wanted you to stick by Kevin? She liked you best. She only knew about us from Kevin's letters, but you were the only one she called a 'nice boy.' Kevin must have written some great stuff about you._
> 
> _No matter who you lose over there, you'll always have me. You're my flesh and blood, Sammy. I think about you all the time and there's nothing you could do that would make me love you less. I'd hop on a plane right now to get over there if I could, but they won't let me. I'll pray for you and I'll even get all of my friends to pray for you too. Get this, I made friends with a man of the Lord – a real religious type! Ain't that something? Even if Winchester prayers are garbage, his have got to be worth something. I made another friend that's a saucy pain in the ass. How's that for a piece of good news from home? Me, making friends. Who'd have thunk it?_
> 
> _The war will end. All wars do. Even if the world isn't the same when it's all said and done, some things will never change. That's you and me. Through thick and through thin, we'll always be brothers. I'm praying for you and your safe return. I love you._
> 
> _Your big brother,_
> 
> _Dean Winchester_

"I like it," Castiel remarked.

"It's not bad," Gabriel added with a nod as he stroked his chin. He couldn't resist a smirk as he read over the line that read ' _saucy pain in the ass.'_ Those words, he decided, should be etched on his gravestone.

_Here lies Gabriel Guerrero de la Cruz – saucy pain in the ass._

"You've all gotta pray for Sammy at least once so it's not a lie. God might be a load of bull, but it's important to Sammy. If I tell him we're gonna pray, we've got to," Dean commanded. He hated religion so much and couldn't believe he was going to go through with a prayer just so the contents of his letter would ring true, but Sam had asked for a prayer and Dean would give it to him.

"Prayer circle for Sammy. Everyone gather 'round, hold hands!" Gabriel announced and reached out his hands to Castiel and Dean. Cas eagerly took Gabriel's hand, but Dean swatted him away.

"Not _now!_ " Dean hissed. Holding hands with guys wasn't something he liked. Praying wasn't something he liked. He couldn't combine two things he disliked with ease. Gabriel pried his eye open and eyed Dean.

"Why not? At least this way you'll know we all did it," Gabriel remarked, "It's for Sammy."

Dean pursed his lips together but then resigned to the ritual. He grabbed the hands of the other men reluctantly. "Okay, how do we do this? Do I start? Um… Um, hey, Jesus. Listen up, you son of a bitch – "

Gabriel's eyes flew open. "Whoa, whoa!"

"Dean, no!" Castiel cried.

"What?" Dean glared at the other two.

Gabriel wasn't as knowledgeable about the Bible or as intense in his beliefs as Castiel, but he was a believer, even if it was only by way of inheritance. With a name like Guerrero de la Cruz, Gabriel suspected that he came from a family of crusaders. Faith was important to his family and since family was so important to him, faith also became important to Gabe. He was stunned by Dean's lack of decorum. Gabriel looked up at the heavens. "Dean, my man. You don't talk to the child of the Holy Father like a common thug, even if you are one. Manners, please."

Dean shrugged. "I just want him to get the message. Loud and fucking clear."

"I'll start," Castiel said in frustration and Gabriel expressed approval. They remained locked in their prayer circle as Castiel spoke in a steady tone, "Dear Heavenly Father, please watch over Sam Winchester. Keep him safe from all evil and harm. Give him courage and protect him so that he may carry out his duties. We pray that Sam has food to eat every day and a safe place to rest. May the power of your eternal love guide Sam back home, safely, to all those that love him. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," Gabriel said, hoping with all his heart that Sam would return.

Dean griped Castiel's hand more tightly and ground his teeth together as he pleaded with and threatened God. _You bring Sammy back, you fucker. Bring him back safe. In one piece. I'll never ask for anything else again. Just don't take Sammy. He isn't ready to go yet. If you have to take a Winchester, you take me. Let Sam come back home._ Dean faltered before replying, "Amen."

A single tear had forced its way down Dean's cheek and he hadn't noticed it until he felt wetness on his hand as he wiped his face. Dean couldn't look at either man for a moment, but he muttered his gratitude, "Thanks."

"You want another hug?" Gabriel asked carefully, already positioning himself for an embrace. Gabriel liked touching people and he liked touching Dean especially because he didn't like to be touched. Dean pushed at his chest, scowling.

"No! I don't need a hug. I'm not a baby!"

"Just a little hug. It's okay, Dean. Shhh…" Gabriel said as he held Dean tight. Dean squirmed and Gabriel placed the tiniest peck on his face.

"Cut it out!"

* * *

Dean mailed his letter, but that did nothing to ameliorate the anxiety he felt on Sam's behalf. Prayers and words on paper could only do so much. They couldn't stop bullets or defuse bombs, but they were all Dean had to protect Sam. Dean became so miserable with worry that it showed in everything he did. His moments with Castiel were no longer peaceful. They sat, playing one of their games of chess, when Dean was set off on a particularly bad fit.

"I thought about what you said," Castiel began innocently, "I'm thinking I'll pick up Latin. That's the next language I want to learn."

"Oh yeah?" Dean said as he plotted his next move. "Why Latin? Nobody speaks Latin anymore. Nobody but the Pope."

"Exactly. I want to learn Latin because the scriptures are still – "

"Waste of fucking time," Dean cut him off and gave him such a cruel look that it startled Castiel into silence. Dean wiped his palms on his pants and clutched the material as he seethed. Vitriol propelled itself to Dean's lips, begging to be spilled. "You're so smart. You're the smartest person I've ever met. How can you believe in that bullshit?"

Wounded, Castiel looked down at their game. Faith wasn't something that was easy to explain or comprehend. "It's something I care about. I don't know why I believe, Dean. I just do. It must have always been important to me. The only thing I can remember of my old life is the Bible. Every word of it. It's a sign from God, I know it is."

Castiel was certain he must have been a preacher or a priest before committing his crime and coming to prison because his knowledge of Christianity and the scriptures was unparalleled.

"There is no God, Cas. And if there is, he's a real piece of work…" Dean fumed, which surprised Castiel considering they had prayed for Sam together only just yesterday. Dean raged on, "Fuck him! What is it with you and God? Look around you. Look at the scumbags we live with. Look at _us_ – at the fucking world."

Castiel sat back. He knew there was something hypocritical about a murderer loving God, but he hoped even the worst man could be redeemed. Cas needed to hope that was true because he was afraid he _was_ the worst man. The words of the Bible were more than just words to him. They were powerful and alive. God was so real to Castiel that he thought he could feel his presence at times.

Dean leaned forward to make his case in a dark tone, "As we speak, Hitler is gassing Jews and who knows who else. Tens of thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands… of _people_. We won't know how many until this whole thing is over and someone hands us a number. There will be a number for every bombed town and every lost soldier. But they won't just be numbers; they'll be every human being this precious fucking 'God' has let down. And then everyone will think, 'Isn't that horrible?' But, guess what? It'll happen again. It always does."

When Dean spoke from his experience and from his pain, he made Castiel doubt his beliefs. Cas knew better than to argue with the soldier, so he remained silent, hoping they could continue with their game. The war was Dean's forte, not Castiel's. Cas stared down at the board again, but Dean pulled away his king.

Dean held Castiel's king in his hand, marveling at the white piece with its tiny crown. In a way, this game symbolized so much of what Dean hated about the world. Why should the pawns get thrown away for a man just because he wore a funny hat with a cross? There was a fascination with royalty and Big Men that made Dean ill. People would remember Churchill, but not Balthazar. What was Sammy on a page of numbers? Dean, who so often felt worthless, knew that he was nothing to the world. Then there was God, King of Kings, who was cruel enough to allow his children to suffer immensely and die undignified deaths, only to be forgotten – only to repeat the meaningless cycle.

"Look at this, Cas," Dean said, thumbing the game piece between his fingers. "I could shove this into your eye socket. You could die a bloody, senseless death right now. You know what God would do about that? Not a damn thing."

Dean swatted at the board, letting the pieces fly before getting up to leave Castiel alone. Dean hated so many things at that moment that he wasn't sure what to hate most. He hated God for letting people die. He hated the Nazis for shooting him and threatening Sam and his friends. He hated people that were sitting in peace while the rest of the world burned. He even hated Castiel a little bit for blindly believing in things that helped no one. Most of all, perhaps, Dean hated being locked away where he was no use to anyone. He saw almost nothing good in the world anymore.

Dean thought God could have done so much better. If He was such a loving Supreme Being, certainly He would have crafted a world that was less miserable. He was omnipresent and omnipotent, and yet He allowed people to be raped, tortured, killed, orphaned, and oppressed every day.

 _The best of all possible worlds_ , Dean inwardly groaned, _This is the best you had to offer?_

Such a God, if He existed, didn't deserve to be praised. Even a criminal like Castiel was above such a heartless overseer. Dean couldn't stand it. There was something perverse about people worshipping a being that cared so little for humanity. And to think that there was a Hell too? There was no way, Dean reflected, that a place worse than their world could exist. It was disgusting to even imagine.

For a long moment, Castiel didn't move. Dean had left him in such a state of despair that he wasn't sure what to feel or what to do. When he truly considered it, Castiel realized that God had never brought him as much joy and comfort as Dean's presence did. Castiel's love for God was sterile and rote, unlike his love for Dean that was emotional and tumultuous. All Castiel wanted was for Dean to know peace and happiness, but it was seeming increasingly impossible. He was aware that his thoughts of Dean were becoming obsessive. Castiel was too eager to do anything for the Winchester and he was beginning to believe those feelings were wrong.

Cas thought it was blasphemous to love a fellow human being more than he loved God. God was perfect and all-powerful. He was the creator of all things, including Dean, and He should be the focus of Castiel's most prevailing love. Yet, only Dean ignited passion within Cas and a desire to live for something. Dean was provocative and extraordinary, without trying. If God was all knowing, then Castiel's feelings for Dean must have been destined. There had to be some reason why Castiel was drawn to Dean and cared so much about him that there were days where little else could occupy his mind. _Why can't I stop thinking about Dean?_ Castiel rested his face on his closed fists. _What do I do?_

"I told you he'd get tired of losing," Gabriel interjected Castiel's thoughts and began to pick up the pieces of the game. Castiel wasn't in the mood to talk.

* * *

Dean was more surly than usual for the rest of the day. He avoided everyone and went to bed angry. His thoughts, more often then not, tended to return to Castiel. By the time he woke up the next morning, he was finally calm and repentant for all the things he had said to his best friend. As usual, he ate breakfast quietly. He was thankful none of the other men favored conversation in the early hours. After, Dean caught up with Castiel in the hall of the second story-corridor on the way to the library.

"Cas," Dean huffed, holding on to the other man's sleeve. Castiel turned to look at him with his characteristically solemn gaze, but was more crestfallen than usual. _Feelings, Dean. Balls to express them._ With considerable effort, Dean apologized as well as he could, "I didn't mean those things I said."

"Yes you did," Castiel answered and brushed Dean's hand away. It was true, Dean's beliefs hadn't changed overnight, but that wasn't what mattered.

"I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry if I did," Dean frowned, making painful efforts to set things right. Even thinking of hurting Castiel's feelings was horrible because Cas was so important to Dean.

"Thank you, Dean, but it's fine. I'll see you at the library," Castiel responded. He walked off without Dean, leaving the soldier perplexed and worried.

"Shit, shit. He's mad at me," Dean hissed and paced around the hall. Dean had never seen Castiel get mad, but he knew what it was like when Castiel was especially gloomy and disappointed. Dean regretted immensely having said something that could provoke sorrow in his friend. He started to walk to the library, trying to think of ways to cheer Cas up, but he came up with nothing. A shot of pain travelled through his arm and he let out a cry of surprise.

Ruby had appeared suddenly to pull on Dean's cast roughly. He was holding the Winchester's wounded limb tightly, thinking of how to break the hand again with the hopes of causing permanent damage. Wounded Dean was Ruby's favorite Dean because he was easier to torment. Ruby grinned his dashing, nefarious grin. "Dean, baby. I missed you. You've been hiding in the library, huh?"

Growling, Dean was ready to punch Ruby in the face, but someone else beat him to it. Ruby noticed the incredible mistake he'd made before Dean knew what was happening. Dean only caught a flash of Ruby's horror before Castiel's fist pounded into his face. Dean watched in awe as a stream of blood trailed into the air. Suddenly, he was watching Castiel crack into Ruby's body with a kind of ferocity that chilled Dean. In that moment, Castiel's face was not his own, but that of a fearless killer.

 _Holy shit_.

Ruby tried to crawl away in vain and gargled his own blood as Castiel's hand clamped down on his throat. He was bleeding profusely from his face as Castiel squeezed his windpipe and threatened him. "Alastair isn't around to protect you anymore. Touch Dean again and you die," Castiel warned, "Look at Dean again and I'll put out your eyes."

Castiel's final statement, in particular, struck absolute terror in Ruby. The bloodied man nodded as his panic steadily rose. Castiel was dangerously close to breaking his windpipe and Ruby was starting to go blue in the face. When Castiel let Ruby go, the man made a pitiful sound and trembled as he tried to draw air back into his lungs. As soon as he did, Castiel gave him a swift kick to the stomach, which made Dean flinch as he watched.

Even then, Castiel wasn't done intimidating Ruby. As the sobbing man labored to breathe, Castiel ripped off his denim jacket and used it to wipe the blood from his hands. When his hands were clean, he threw the bloodied jacket over the ledge onto the first floor where men were passing by.

 _Holy shit_ , Dean's mind screamed again as he watched Castiel. Then, Cas turned to look at Dean with a sharp, frosty gaze that Dean was ashamed to admit was incredibly arousing. Watching Castiel violently thrash another person shouldn't have made Dean fidgety with desire, but it did. Castiel addressed his stunned friend. "Come on. Let's go."

Dean followed Castiel to the library, at a loss for words. Things were beginning to make sense. The library had never been mostly vacant because of the way it was organized. Men avoided the library because they were afraid of Castiel. Only after Dean had started working there did more men begin to visit. The burst of cold, merciless violence Castiel had exhibited also explained Zachariah's shock at Dean's desire to work in this library. Now, Dean realized, Castiel had never been paying for Gabriel's protection as he once thought; Castiel had been protecting _him_ by virtue of being his friend. The face of calm Castiel wore around Dean and Gabriel was not one that was universally enjoyed. The sweetness in him was an anomaly.

Dean inhaled a breath when he realized Castiel was the only other person still alive at the prison that men avoided like they avoided Death. _Holy shit_.

When they reached the library, Castiel placed his fingers gently on the elbow of Dean's wounded arm. He touched him with a gentleness that was in direct opposition to the brutality with which he had beaten Ruby. "Are you alright?" Castiel asked and softness returned to his handsome countenance, "Dean?"

Dean was not okay. He could not be all right after coming to so many revelations in such a short period of time.

Dean had been sexually attracted to one other man in his life. That man had been an army doctor with thick, dark hair and a suave disposition. He had given Dean a bottle of Aspirin and introduced himself, but Dean had been so flustered by the man that he hadn't remembered a word of what he had said. After that day, that doctor became known only as Dr. Sexy in Dean's mind. When his fellow soldiers found out about his crush, Dean became the butt of many jokes.

Castiel blew Dr. Sexy out of the water.

Dean couldn't produce sounds at all. When Castiel tilted his head to the side with a concerned frown, Dean blinked and looked around the library, feeling his entire body swell with heat. He grabbed Castiel's arm and lured him behind the shelves where few people wandered. Castiel was completely baffled until the moment that Dean shoved him into the wall and pressed their lips together.

That one kiss ushered in many following kisses of equal ardor. Dean feverishly kissed Castiel and pushed their bodies together. He tore at Castiel's jacket and moaned when the other man deepened their kiss. Castiel's tongue entreated Dean's mouth lovingly, but he gripped Dean with an aggressive possessiveness. Everything was happening so fast, but Dean had no desire to stop it. When he felt Castiel's hardening member against his body, he purposefully rubbed into it to encourage Cas' lust. Castiel squeezed Dean's ass and forced their bodies closer together as he seared his mouth along his jaw and throat.

Castiel couldn't remember a time when he had wanted to fuck a person more. He hoisted Dean up in his powerful arms and settled him down on top of a desk where he thrust his clothed erection between his legs. Dean whimpered and wrapped his arms around Castiel, needing his touch. Neither man had the spare breath for words, so when Castiel undid Dean's pants to stroke his shaft, Dean only gasped desperately.

Their lips melded together as Castiel brought their dicks together. They shared soft, pleased utterances and sighs when Cas took charge in simultaneously caressing their aching lengths. Dean clawed into Castiel's shoulder with his good hand and arched his body into Castiel's amorous strokes. Dean felt so good he almost forgot they were in the prison library and that any man could walk in and see them together if he happened to need a book in their section.

Dean could not stifle his lusty cry as he neared his climax and the sound of his yearning only further excited Castiel. _Oh my God_. Dean trembled and buried his mouth into Castiel's shoulder. They came together in a wave of elation. Castiel leaned into Dean to rest with him calmly. Relaxed, their lips met again for lazy, satisfied kisses.

The bell they kept at the front of the library rang. Dean stiffened, but Castiel wrapped his arms around his waist. After a moment of silence, the bell rang again. Cas met Dean's eyes and said, "Let it ring."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Castiel, and Gabriel find new ways of diverting themselves. Charlie notices a difference in Cas and Dean's relationship and Gabriel spies on his friends.

A fractured mandible, two cracked teeth, four fractured ribs, a fractured zygomatic bone, a bruised throat, numerous lacerations, and a countenance rendered appropriately hideous for its owner occupied Dr. Devereaux in the infirmary following Castiel's show of aggression. These agonies suffered by Ruby were well-deserved retributions, but even they could not equal the pain Dean had endured alone for months. Castiel had acted to the other extreme of the way Dean's assailants had acted—viciously protective instead of harmful—prompting a slew of uncontrollable, elated feelings to erupt within Dean for Cas that were directly opposed to the revile with which he beheld Ruby. Dean had been overwhelmed by the incredible phenomenon of having a protector because he had never been protected before. Thus, kissing Castiel had been unavoidable.

Dean had gained more than a gentle friend in Cas. Dean had gained a loyal ally that would never hurt him and that would go to great lengths to defend him. Dean could never look at Castiel the same way again.

Still, after they had fixed their clothing, cooled off, and parted ways, Dean became convinced that their heated moment in the library was a one-time affair. He thought, perhaps, that Castiel would regard their tryst as a form of compensation for protecting him from Ruby. That reasoning vexed Dean because he had kissed Castiel because he had wanted to. He was stunned when he realized he wanted to kiss Cas again. Insecure, Dean did not wish to ruin the best relationship he had in prison, so he concealed his feelings to the best of his abilities.

At breakfast the next morning, Dean tried to act as though nothing had happened and, in turn, Castiel was as cool as ever, eating in silence. Cas' biscuit was especially hard this morning so he dunked it into his coffee to soften it with cautious precision. Observing Castiel's charming eating habits captivated Dean until Gabriel began to incessantly complain about anything and everything. Unsurprisingly, his ire was eventually directed at their breakfast.

"I would give _at least_ one of my testicles not to have to eat this shit again," Gabriel groaned at his plate. Gabriel had yet to accept that the gruel before him was meant to be some kind of porridge in spite of years of eating the same milky substance. "Who do you have to fuck around here to get some eggs?"

"Gabe. Shut up," Dean grumbled in response. He was irritated because the other man had gotten him to think about eggs. When a man got to thinking about eggs, invariably, he got to thinking about bacon. Gabriel never got tired of complaining about the food and Dean wondered if he would be the same way in seven years.

"I almost got a live chicken in here once," Gabriel reminisced, but then his mien deflated, "Uriel took it away."

Dean didn't have a response to that statement. He simply sighed, continued to eat his factory-produced paste, and hoped the day would pass with more excitement than the typical day.

Dean got his wish in an unanticipated way at the library as he worked to stack returned books into their appropriate locations. Castiel came to help Dean by handing him books since the man had to reach up to the highest shelves to return some of them. Right when Dean thought they were settling back into their routine, Castiel crowded into Dean's personal space and met his green eyes with tender expectations. Castiel looked like a man who was loosing a battle to contain a burning secret and his distressed expression caused Dean to do a double take when he peered down to reach for another book. Because Dean was on a ladder, he did not have a lot of flexibility to move, but he was able to turn to face Cas when he noticed Castiel's fingers brushing along his leg. "Cas?" Dean questioned, "What are you doing?"

The intensity displayed on Castiel's visage should have given his intentions away. Castiel's shy, seductive touch turned into a yearning caress. Dean's body hummed with pleasure from Castiel's contact. When Dean did not protest, Castiel allowed his hand to travel up Dean's inner thigh. Dean almost fell from the surprise of being so intimately touched, but Cas steadied him on the ladder by holding his legs in place. When he groped the Winchester through his pants, the other man cried, "Cas!"

 _Right here?_ Dean reddened. _Now?_ They were not by the entrance of the library, but they were still out in the open where their privacy could easily be invaded. Castiel didn't mind that fact at all. He began to fondle Dean beneath his pants, stroking him into a state of indecency for their public setting. Dean liquefied against the ladder, resting his backside on one of the steps, and Castiel lowered his head between his legs to caress his now exposed length with his warm tongue. Castiel was attentive in the task, displaying an unexpected degree of skill. Dean's breath hitched in his chest and he knocked over several books when Castiel enclosed his lips around his erection.

_Fuck!_

Dean tried to remain silent, but it was challenging with the way Castiel boldly sucked his cock. Cas' goal was to plunge Dean into a world of bliss where he would think of nothing but how fulfilled he was. Dean's satisfaction would bring Castiel joy. The Winchester became stimulated beyond what Castiel had anticipated. Dean pressed his cast over his mouth, pleasurably astonished by the man between his legs.

Getting sucked off was something Dean had desperately missed. He instinctively thrust into Castiel's mouth with need and was amazed when Castiel was able to accommodate his length. He clearly had experience. Dean was embarrassed, but so excited that he urged Cas on with soft pleas. "Yes," Dean moaned quietly, "God yes."

Of course, at that moment, footfalls entered the library and a familiar voice rang in their ears. "Cas? Dean?"

"Charlie?!" Dean exclaimed in a panic. Castiel didn't stop his ministrations and Dean's heart raced as he heard the young man's feet begin to wander in their direction. "W-Wait!" Dean cried, "Just wait up front!"

Dean muffled a deep moan into his arm, inwardly weeping from the sensation of fucking Castiel's mouth. He was so close to his orgasm that even the threat of being discovered could not motivate Dean to stop Cas. From his low, throaty groan, Dean surmised that the dark-haired man was licentiously eager to bring Dean to his climax. Dean summoned the most level tone he could manage while burning with such passion. "Just wait, Charlie! It'll be just a sec!"

Then, Dean swore, Castiel had the gall to wink.

"I can probably find it myself," Charlie muttered and began to browse the stacks.

"God damn it!" Dean's cry filled the library, freezing Charlie in place. Castiel swallowed Dean's hot release and left him alone so quickly that, if not for the ecstasy coursing through his every cell, Dean might have believed that he had imagined the entire thing. Dazed and panting, Dean heard Castiel deadpan to Charlie from across the library.

"There's a bad spill back there."

Presumably, Dean's mild-mannered bookworm of a friend had a moderately deranged, depraved side. _Who the hell are you?_ Dean wondered. The Winchester took a heady moment to marvel at his partner before hastily putting himself back together.

Charlie and Castiel got along together well. At first, Charlie had been apprehensive of the man like he had been with Dean, but he quickly came to understand Cas was a fellow connoisseur of literature. Charlie was possibly the first person to suspect that Castiel was hopelessly in love with Dean.

While Dean had been in the infirmary, Charlie had frequented the library, doing his best to avoid the cold librarian. During Dean's stint away, inmates noted that Castiel was perceivably more disagreeable. His first few weeks in prison, Charlie found that Cas was every bit as hard and aloof as the rumors suggested. Yet, that particular day, when Dean emerged grinning madly from having 'cleaned up the spill,' Castiel exuded palpable warmth. Without having to gaze at Dean, there was a change in the blue of his eyes suggesting serenity. Looking at Dean, Charlie could understand Castiel's affections.

Charlie liked Dean better when he was around Cas too. Dean helped Charlie check out his books and wished him a good day. As soon as Charlie was gone, Dean shot a glance at Cas. "You and I need to talk."

"Is there a problem?" Castiel frowned and Dean walked up to the smug man. Dean pointed at Castiel's chest and opened his mouth to say something, but he was distracted by the other man's gorgeous allure. Dean had dug himself into something deep, he could already tell.

"We're going to talk, but not here. Not in the open!" Dean insisted. And so, Castiel joined Dean in a location that was significantly more private. The storage room of the library was the only place nearby that was not exposed. It was full of extra desks, chairs, and old shelves. The walls were fitted with sturdy wooden shelves that had grown dusty. Dean flipped the light on and paced before confronting Cas.

"You can't just do that!" Dean remarked.

"I thought you would like it."

Dean halted, unsure of where to direct his gaze because Castiel was affecting him more acutely than ever before. "Well, I did." _So much_.

"But you don't want me to do it anymore?"

"Oh, no. You can do that all you want," Dean answered dreamily, but then got serious. "But not in public! Not where people might see. Holy cats, Cas. Is that the kind of stuff you learned at Sunday school?"

Castiel shrugged, unwilling to tell Dean how he'd gained his knowledge and audacity. He enjoyed making Dean come and hoped he hadn't ruined his chances to do it again. "It was our lull time," Cas argued, "I forgot about Charlie."

Charlie was in and out of the library at all hours because he only had to work when something was broken. Depending on the day, he could be completely unoccupied. Dean could not find the will to be upset with Cas. He had enticed Castiel the previous day, and was genuinely pleased to be seduced in return today.

"What about here?" Castiel inquired, "Is this place secluded enough?"

Dean contemplated the relatively spacious storage room and then nodded in approval. "Yeah, I'd say so. This is pretty – "

Castiel pulled Dean into a kiss, glad that they had a sanctioned space where they could carry on as they pleased. He had wanted to kiss Dean for longer than he had ever been aware. When their lips were joined, Castiel knew this was what had been nagging him about Dean. Dean responded energetically, pressing Cas gently into one of the walls. "What's gotten into you?" Dean panted, observing Castiel's sensitive and wanton gaze.

"You started it, Dean," Castiel replied. "You shouldn't have kissed me."

"Like hell. I wanted to. I had to," Dean huffed in return. Nervously, he inquired, "Are we gonna start fucking now? Is that what's happening?"

"Please," Castiel exhaled in response. He wanted to chase the strange feeling Dean provoked within him and he also wanted something pleasant to help him pass the days. " _Please_."

"Well, since you're being so polite…" Dean muttered between kisses and moved his hand down Castiel's body to undo the buttons of his shirt. At that moment, Dean thought there couldn't be anything more rewarding or exhilarating than spurring on Castiel's lust. Cas was so often calm that his carnal urges were fascinating to Dean. In a low, breathy tone, Dean growled, "You're so sexy."

Dean spoke thinking about Castiel's sweet, reserved smiles, his vast patience, his impressive intellect, his bloodied hands, and, finally, his open-air blowjobs. Dean only wished that having sex with Cas could be more convenient. He was unused to men and unused to having to struggle to find privacy. "If you were a dame, I'd bury myself in you so deep…"

He had flashes of fucking Cas on a bed in a house he would never have.

Dean's lips brushed over Castiel's jaw and he moved to suck gently on his ear. Castiel shivered with excitement and felt himself become achingly hard, thinking he would gladly let Dean penetrate him if he wished. Dean's mouth settled over his neck to heatedly kiss and suck over Castiel's quickening pulse as his hand caressed his clothed erection. Castiel made a muffled sound of pleasure, tortured by the barrier of fabric between them.

"I would fuck you so hard you wouldn't be able to walk straight," Dean breathed into Castiel's skin. Regardless of what Dean said, he wasn't thinking of Cas as a woman. He unzipped the other man's fly and took Cas' firm length in his hand.

"But I'm not a woman, Dean…" Cas responded softly.

"I still wanna make you moan, baby," Dean answered. Their lips met and Dean succeeded in his goal as he enthusiastically pumped Castiel's cock. Dean had not felt so aroused from just kissing another person in so long. He lowered his mouth to Castiel's now-exposed chest where he bit his nipple gently. Dean let his tongue, teeth, and lips lavish Castiel's body until the other man was whimpering. Dean dropped to his knees.

* * *

Dean's cast was removed from his hand a few days after their trysts became daily occurrences. Dean and Cas abandoned chess in the afternoons to spend more time with Gabriel, which he appreciated. Gabriel's stories and songs were simple pleasures that could not remind Dean of anything negative. Gabriel, long-time hep cat that he was, thought most things could be fixed with a joke or a tune, and he was mostly correct. Gabriel wrote songs about everyone that interested him, but he also sang covers of the popular songs of the day. He enjoyed serenading Castiel more than anyone else partly because Cas was so comically stiff.

"You're still jealous about that time I kissed Dean, aren't you?" Gabriel joked to Castiel, clueless of how much Castiel had been kissing Dean recently. Gabriel soothed Castiel's supposed wounded feelings with his unique rendition of 'Body and Soul.'

" _My days have grown so lonely… For you I cry, for you dear only._ "

Gabe inundated Castiel with long, romantic gazes and passionate lyrics. Dean snorted and Castiel squirmed when Gabriel promised he was Castiel's ' _for just the takin_ '.'

" _My life revolves about you. What earthly good am I without you?_ " Gabriel batted his eyelashes as he sang soulfully. He began to cling to Castiel's leg as he crooned his final notes of devotion to Castiel, " _Oh, I tell you I mean it. I'm all for you, body and soul!_ "

By now, Castiel was mostly accustomed to such antics, but Dean was chortling uncontrollably to the side. The Winchester clapped, wearing an amused expression. "Billie Holiday! Beautiful. Just beautiful."

Gabriel took a half-hearted bow, but was, as ever, thrilled to be the center of attention. The fact that Dean appreciated his vocals did wonders for his already massive ego. Objectively, Gabe's voice was warm and smooth like brandy, comforting to the spirit. His proclivity to perform was well complimented by his daring, unashamed personality.

"How come Cas gets all the songs?" Dean wondered out loud. He knew they were surrogate brothers, but Gabriel had a real inclination to sing beautiful, reassuring tunes of love to the blue-eyed man.

"Cas is special, that's why." Gabriel would never elaborate.

Gabriel also liked to play various games, including a particularly sadistic one in which they went around in turn, describing what they missed most about the outside world. Gabriel said it was good for them because it was unavoidable that they would miss things, but it would be less painful if they could miss them together. Gabriel generally missed things associated with his stunted career in music.

They spread out on the grass, looking up at the sky, thinking of all the things they pined for. "The lounge," Gabriel said, "and runnin' booze for the speak-easies."

"Come on! Jesus, Gabe. Why would you miss that?" Dean moaned because his father had gotten into a lot of trouble making moonshine and being involved in bootlegging. Those were horrible times to have an alcoholic father and Dean did not remember them fondly.

"I didn't say I missed the Prohibition. I just miss the excitement of runnin' booze. It was fun. Dangerous. Shut up and give your answer."

"Pie," Dean responded bluntly.

Cas chimed in, "Hamburgers."

Dean and Gabriel regarded Castiel with put upon expressions. Gabriel was the first to nag him, "You already said hamburgers!"

"Well, I still miss them."

"It's a different thing each time, Cas," Dean complained. In fairness, Castiel was not good at this particular game because he couldn't remember a majority of his life. He thought he remembered things sometimes, but it was impossible to tell if his memories were accurate. They gave him a break and moved on after Cas promised to come up with something original the next time.

"The grand piano," Gabriel resumed. Gabriel knew how to play the piano and the guitar, but he missed the piano most.

"Baby." They knew Dean well enough now to know he meant his car.

There was a pause before Castiel said, "Shops."

"Shops?" Gabriel looked over to Cas. "Why shops?"

"I don't remember them well anymore, but I think it'd just be out of this world to be in a place where I could have anything I wanted if I had the money," Castiel mused out loud. "Say I wanted a tie and some milk. Wouldn't that be grand if I could just buy both?"

"Milk! My next one is milk!" Dean cut in.

"All you ever want is food," Gabriel scowled at Dean.

"That's not true! I said the car. My last one was the car."

"You change your answer," Gabriel insisted. "Cas just gave a good one. Nice one, Cas."

Dean deliberated for a moment before saying, "Public swimming pools."

"Oh," Gabriel swooned and smiled lasciviously. " _Yes_."

* * *

The rumor mill worked overtime on the budding relationship developing between Gabriel, Dean, and Cas – especially Dean and Cas. Gabriel liked to be in charge of the rumor mill, but this time, he wasn't. Upset that he had somehow avoided 'being in the know,' he took to spying on Dean and Castiel. Having Dean around considerably improved Gabriel's life and he knew the Winchester also had positive affects on Castiel. Gabriel was invested in discovering exactly what the depths of those affects were. He hid in a concealed nook in the library, flipping through his much cherished collection of pin-up girls as he listened to Dean and Castiel argue and flirt.

The two of them had renovated the library so impressively that even the warden had lauded them on the changes. Castiel and Dean made a good team because they enjoyed each other's company so much and because their individual desires to accomplish things, when combined, were remarkable. Since he had help, Castiel had more time to study whatever he wanted. He was poured over a book of Latin when Dean began to harass him.

"You could be learnin' anything, Cas. You planning to lead Mass?" Dean teased before settling his body against Castiel's desk. Dean loved how Castiel read and absorbed information so quickly and precisely. He was like a beautiful machine, but sometimes Dean wanted to be the focus of Castiel's attention. He regularly needled Cas about his religion, but rarely in that caustic way he had done weeks ago. When Castiel ignored him, Dean tried to provoke him. "You know who else is Christian? Adolf."

At this, Castiel groaned softly. He knew what Dean was trying to do and he was going to have none of it. "He's not a Christian," Castiel responded, horrified that such a man could mar his religion. "Let me read."

Dean didn't move. He peered over Castiel's shoulder, already knowing what bothersome comment he would make next. "You know who else is Christian? The Grand Wizard of the KKK."

"Dean!" Castiel cried. "Please."

Dean lifted up his hands defensively, "Hey, I could go all day. I just think you oughta know the kind of company you keep. Good ol' Protestant puppets burning crosses, scaring poor black folk. All for Jesus."

Ruffled by his incendiary remarks, Castiel set his book down and stared at Dean. As offended as Castiel sometimes became, he inwardly enjoyed being challenged by Dean. He always defended his religion. "False Christians," Castiel answered, "Bad seeds that have no business associating their actions with God."

"Bad seeds? How many 'holy wars' and _un_ holy wars is this world going to have to see before it wises up?" Dean scoffed, thinking religion was nothing but poison. He loved Cas the way he was, but if he could change one thing about him it would be his unshaking resolve to cling to his religion. "It's not about bad seeds here or there, Cas. When do you hear about an atheist knocking off some other guy because he wasn't unbelievin' enough? It doesn't happen! The most peaceable people on this Earth want nothing to do with religion."

"Are you saying you're peaceable?" Castiel quirked an eyebrow at Dean and the soldier twitched.

 _Nazis don't count_ , Dean thought so loudly that Castiel could practically pluck the thoughts from his brain. "I've only ever fought to defend people," Dean asserted. "Myself, Sam, the country." _Ben_.

 _Uh-huh_. They had both hurt people and ended lives so perhaps neither Cas nor Dean had any business arguing about morality. In all their conversations, never once had Castiel argued that he was a good person because of his religion. Cas wouldn't dare suggest that he was an upright person at all. Castiel momentarily dwelled on something terrible from his past and hastily redirected their conversation, "We have our separate interests. I never complain when you ramble on about cars… even though I'm not particularly fond of them."

"I don't ramble on about cars!" Dean pouted, but then the core of Castiel's words distracted him. _Cas doesn't like cars?_ Dean gasped, "What did you just say to me? How is a person capable of not being 'particularly fond' of man's greatest invention?"

 _No, Cas_. Dean secretly reeled because his most popular reoccurring fantasy involved escaping prison and taking Castiel for a ride in his car. He dreamed about combining his favorite person with his favorite past time, driving. Castiel avoided Dean's gaze, scrunching his lips together in a way Dean found to be aggravating. "They don't interest me," Castiel admitted, "On some level, they are impressive, but they're unnatural, loud, and I don't like the exhaust."

Dean loved everything about cars, from their noises to their distinctive odors. Horrified, Dean blabbered, "You've got to be kidding! Who gives a rat's ass about exhaust? Nothing else in the world has ever changed human life more for the better."

The world was a more efficient place because of cars. People got to see the world because of them. In their own right, automobiles were works of art. They were modern marvels. Castiel replied, "It depends on your perspective. As they become more popular, more people will die in accidents. They're not very safe. And all that exhaust has to go somewhere, don't you think? Eventually, every town will be surrounded in a cloud of it. We'll all be breathing it, all the time. Repulsive, by anyone's standards."

 _Repulsive_.

"You're just saying that because you know it pisses me off!" Dean grumbled, "See if I ever take you for a drive!"

"That's fine. I can live without it. After all, the last time I rode in an automobile I was brought to this place," Castiel complained, "I do wonder if perhaps it would have been easier for me to escape if I had been transported by a horse-drawn carriage."

"Horse-drawn carriages! No! I can't talk to you if you're going to be like this," Dean moaned and left Castiel alone to his book. As far as Castiel was concerned, it was a mission accomplished.

After hours of relative silence filled only with quiet work and occasional grumbling and sighs, Gabriel peered around his hiding spot to see Dean secretively approaching a door Gabriel hadn't noticed before. _Bingo_. Following a period of stillness, Gabriel descended to the floor to snoop. Seeing that Castiel was also missing, Gabriel's curiosity piqued with exhilaration. Gabriel tiptoed to the mysterious, partially concealed door and gathered a hefty breath before opening it.

His eyes feasted upon a passionate scene. Dean was nestled in Castiel's lap on the floor with his arms wrapped around Castiel as he left ardent kisses on Castiel's lips. Castiel's shirtless body was covered in love marks. He responded to Dean's kisses with a fiery zeal, stroking the Winchester's hard length in his hand.

" _Madre!_ " Gabriel exclaimed, his features lighting up with wonder. He flailed and gestured in triumph. "I knew it! I knew it!"

Dean was so startled that his eyes went wide and he made several nonsensical exclamations. It was impossible to look composed or innocent when Castiel's hand was still encasing his dick and when his lips were swollen from their kisses. Castiel wore a steamy expression as he confronted Gabe with his sharp blue eyes. "Get out."

"Of course! Yeah!" Gabriel faltered and left the room. He was so giddy about having found their love getaway that he just had to impose on them one more time. Gabe opened the door again and saw that Castiel had already taken to resuming his adoration of Dean. "I just wanted to say that this – " Gabriel pointed between the two men. "This. What's happening here is very attractive. Wow. Even if I was on the outside, I think I would still find this attractive."

Gabriel openly admired the coupling of Cas and Dean.

"God damn it, Gabe!" Red in the face, Dean shouted, "Get the fuck out of here!"

Unmoved by Dean's rage, Gabriel's mouth hung open. Never before had he witnessed so much handsome in one room. "Can I get an invite?" Gabriel questioned, already making like he was taking off his jacket. Being in between Castiel and Dean had to be a wondrous sexual delicacy, "I want to sign up to be in the middle. Oh, _baby_ , am I ever getting in on this."

Castiel and Dean growled at Gabriel, chucking things at him and shouting expletives until the man left. For the third and final time, Gabriel opened the door to the room and peeked his head in. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, Charlie fixed the reel-to-reel. Movie night at 8 'o clock!"

"Gabriel! I will kill you!"

Gabriel left at last for good, but he left with the largest grin etched on his face.

* * *

That storage room became a virtually sacred place. Dean and Castiel would spend most of the sexual part of their affair locking lips in that room. After Gabriel's interruptions, they took measures to seal themselves away more securely. They tried to visit the room only when the library was vacant, but sometimes they would find men busy reading or searching the stacks when they emerged. This made Dean rather uncomfortable.

Dean would complain about how dirty and unorganized that storage room was if anyone asked him where he had been and what he had been doing soon after leaving the room where he had been spending moments reaching a climax with Castiel. His need to devise excuses convinced almost nobody because Castiel would exit the storage room a few minutes later, full of satisfaction. Cas never bothered to tame his hair after their escapades, so he often wore a tousled, just-loved look. Although that thick, disheveled hair made Dean drool, it did nothing to help hide the fact that Castiel and Dean were intimately involved. Since they could never kiss or touch in front of others, their time in that room became all the more heated.

The mess-hall-turned-theater provided additional diversions. The first day they had the pleasure of watching films again, Zachariah had praised Charlie's ingenuity and begged the men to treat all the equipment of the jailhouse with respect. Castiel liked a smoke with his movies, partially to curb the anxiety he felt from being unable to touch and hold Dean as he watched them. Cas ached to touch Dean as they sat near each other, but he held himself in check. The films captivated Dean. He thought they were greater than books and he wished he could take the movies with him everywhere.

Newsreels never brought him the comfort he had believed they would. Whenever he watched news of the war, Dean scanned every face he saw obsessively, thinking he would see Sam on the film one day. The newsreels painted world affairs with a glossy brush that made Dean feel ill. His soaring nerves rendered him still when he watched them because he hadn't received a letter from Sam in a long while. Sometimes the news of the war would ruin Dean's ability to enjoy whatever film was played after. Dean was particularly affected by news of the landing of British and American troops on the beaches of Normandy.

The return of news to the jailhouse stirred many conversations among the men in general. At supper one day, even Death communicated a prediction about the war. "Hitler is going to die," He said, "Soon."

Gabriel, Castiel, and Dean focused their eyes on Death because he rarely gave his opinions. When he spoke, he spoke with a weight that they respected and took seriously.

"Soon isn't soon enough," Dean muttered back and Death turned to him, observing Dean with placid, reserved fascination. Dean's angst about the war was so deep that it was possible it was starting to affect Death. The humorless man spoke words meant solely for Dean.

"All men die exactly when they are intended to die," Death told Dean, but he had turned his eyes to Cas to give him a pointed stare. "His time is coming."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean receives welcome correspondence and a warning. With Charlie's help, Cas tries something imprudent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Smoking is not good for you, but I’m about to sexualize the hell out of smoking in this chapter. Don’t let the [ridiculous](http://wellmedicated.com/lists/40-gorgeous-vintage-tobacco-advertisements/) [ads](http://www.health.com/health/gallery/0,,20307049,00.html) fool you. Smoking = Bad.

After hearing of the news of the war fomenting in France, Gabriel kept to himself more than was typical and stopped singing. Dean knew that must have been because he was thinking of his many family members that were still abroad. Havens in Europe were few and far between, if they existed anymore. With Gabriel lacking in energy, the prison became a grayer, gloomier place.

Gabriel still told stories, but they had taken on a nostalgic, morbid bent. Dean learned that Gabriel's family was from the Basque region that overlapped areas of Spain and France because there was a cake from those lands that filled Gabriel's dreams. This cake, known as the _gâteau basque_ , was described as a decadent dessert with an almond-flavored body that was impregnated with delicious cream or fruit jam. It was buttery, sweet, and perfect. Gabriel claimed that he could eat it morning, noon, and night. He desperately wanted to bite into such a cake, allowing his lips and tongue to be saturated by its filling. Simply, Gabriel wanted that cake and the love of a stranger. He wanted Dean, Castiel, Charlie, and the entire world to eat Basque cake and share a kiss.

Instead, the beaches of the native soil of his relatives that he had visited as a boy were being colored red with blood. Scarlet agony was drifting into the blue waters as they remained in their distant prison. The thought of men floating off into the ocean and being buried into the sands struck Gabriel as being particularly grotesque. A beach was a like a café or a jazz club – a sacred place to be enjoyed completely divorced from any threat of violence.

His stories became characterized by carnage. Instead of eating his cherished Basque cake in peace, Gabriel recounted a story of how Spanish bullrings had been used to massacre humans instead of bulls. From his fanciful lips, such a story sounded like a cruel exaggeration, but it wasn't. The morbid imagery of people being gathered into a bullring to be shot by firing squad was one Dean hadn't been able to forget. Gabriel said these were the types of stories that were not meant to be forgotten. They were the stories that Gabe felt deeply because they painted the reasons why he could no longer visit his relatives overseas. The bloody Spanish Civil War had only made way for the beginning of the dictatorship of Franco that ushered in a new era of thousands of civilians to be murdered, starved, and oppressed.

Gabriel never said it, but it was obvious that he was worried that his family overseas was thinning out from either the war raging on in France or the tyranny in Spain. In particular, he was worried about his older brother, Lucien, who he only described as 'rebellious' and 'hotheaded.' Lucy, as he was sometimes affectionately known, had estranged himself from their parents, Gabriel, and his brothers many years ago, electing to live in France out of spite. The ocean between them and the fact that Lucy never wrote to anyone didn't stop Gabriel from worrying about his brother.

Dean empathized with Gabriel because Sam was in the middle of the bloodshed too. Right when Dean was beginning to become unbearably nervous from the lack of correspondence from Sam, he was inundated in mail. He received a thin package and two letters on the same day. 'Bobby Singer' and 'Sam Winchester' were the most marvelous names he could have expected to read that day. Dean didn't know which letter to open first, but settled on Bobby's because Bobby had never written before and his letter came with the slender package.

> _Dear Dean,_
> 
> _I've been wanting to write you ever since you got carted off. I've been racking my brains trying to think of what to say to you and I finally wrote this letter. I've tried to understand what happened, and I just can't. I even got to looking up cases like yours to try to figure it out. While I was researching, I got in contact with a man by the name of Rufus Turner that thinks he might be able to help, maybe even come up with some new evidence to make an appeal. He's a private detective that specializes in unusual homicides and he's coming down from Vermont to meet with me. I'm searching for an explanation for what happened because I refuse to believe you would ever hurt a person without a damn good reason. I know you're a good boy. You always have been even if you are rough around the edges. I want you to know I'm thinking about you. A lot of folks are, but me especially. You and Sam are like my own and you always will be._
> 
> _It's not good for an old man's heart to see you boys off at war and locked away. I hope this letter and the package will bring you some comfort._
> 
> _I've been taking care of your car. I keep her clean, polished, and running like a dream. Sometimes I park her in front of the house so she can be admired like she's meant to be. When I don't have the space, I park her safe in the back. A couple of guys came around asking to buy her and I told them to go to hell. They thought they could get a steal on her on account of you being put away. Can you believe these idjits? I'm thinking Sam will take her whenever he returns from the war. I've got to tell you, people around here are dying to write to Sam, but we haven't out of respect for your wishes. How long do you expect us to go on like this? It ain't right to leave a boy without any word from home while he's off at war. Jess wants me to ask you if we can write to Sam as long as we don't mention you and your case. I tell you Dean, that little girl is fixing to lose her mind._
> 
> _I also wanted to write you to let you to know that Ben is staying with his aunt and is being well looked after. You meant a whole lot to him, so it's been hard, but the entire town is taking care of that boy. Everyone was broken up about your trial and a lot of folks are just now going on their business like nothing happened. It's all an awful disgrace. Everyone knows things aren't the same without you. I had to hire some kid to take your job and he knows half of what you know. He gets under my skin, but mostly because he isn't you._
> 
> _I'm real ashamed that it took me so long to write you. If you need to talk or if you need anything, I'm here for you._
> 
> _Always,_
> 
> _Bobby Singer_

Dean tore open the slim envelope that accompanied Bobby's letter and saw some brand new magazines about the latest automobiles. Dean beamed at the bound sheets of paper, filling with excitement. When he flipped through one of the magazines, another sheet of paper spilled on the floor along with a beautiful, familiar photo of Betty Grable.

The note read: _Enjoy your girls._

"Bobby!" Dean grinned, face flushed. He put Betty up on the wall, where she smiled her sweet, angelic smile upon him. She had followed Dean to war and it was only right that she should comfort him in his cell. Her white, bright teeth, her golden locks, and long legs symbolized a paradise that Dean was sure didn't exist. Yet, looking at the idol lifted his spirits. Betty watched as Dean tore through Sam's letter.

> _Dear Dean,_
> 
> _Thank you for the letter. I was so happy to hear from you and to hear that you're doing well and making friends. Your friend Gabriel is a swell guy. I got his present soon after getting your letter._

"What?" Dean shouted at the paper in his hand. He'd never mentioned Gabriel by name. _I got his present?_ Dean gawked at the letter and read on.

> _The shoes are great and I'm guarding them with my life. Getting your letter and a pair of good shoes means the world to me. I'm writing Gabriel back, but please let him know how much I appreciate the shoes. I haven't written you in a while because things have gotten crazy over here. We hit a mine. Garth got injured something awful and has to have surgery on his arm. I think he'll be okay. He's keeping his spirits up. It's wild how such a small guy can contain so many guts. I'm thankful to God that he's still alive. I think he's going to get sent home. If he does, I'm going to miss him._
> 
> _Did Jess get another fella over there? You can tell me the truth. I can handle it. I'm guessing she doesn't write to me because she doesn't care for me anymore. She used to write me such sweet words, but she doesn't anymore. I'm afraid I scared her away. I might have written some things to her I shouldn't have. I really thought we could get married some day. She's the best gal in the world and I would be a fool to lose her. Can you talk to her for me, please? If she doesn't want to write me, I understand._
> 
> _I hope my last letter didn't upset you too much. I'm sorry you had to hear about Kevin and Balthazar like that. You're right, of course. I need to keep going on, not just for Balthazar. I'll keep fighting for you. I'll keep going on in hopes of being able to see you again. I dream about the convertible and sleeping in a house that hasn't been blown to bits. I miss real food. Most of all, I miss you. I'll do everything I can to come back home, I promise._
> 
> _How is your shoulder? I hope you are still in good health. I'd like to hear more about your new friends, especially the preacher. It's amazing that you of all people found a friend in a man of the cloth. He must be very interesting. When I get back I'd sure like to meet him and Gabriel. Take care of yourself, Dean. Give my love and kisses to the family._
> 
> _With Love,_
> 
> _Sam Winchester_

Dean wrote Bobby and Sam back immediately. He encouraged Bobby to tell Jess to write Sam under the condition that she wouldn't say anything about him. Dean wrote kind words to Garth in his letter to Sam and gave a brief account of all of Castiel's finer points without being specific about his history. With all of these things accomplished, Dean hurried over to Gabriel's cell, intending to give him a piece of his mind. Dean found Gabriel loafing about with Charlie.

"Gabe! What the hell are you doing writing to Sam?" Dean barked, "You're writing to Sam, aren't you?"

Gabriel tried to put on an innocent face, but he caved in when Dean described the letter he'd just received.

"Of course I'm writing Sammy."

"Don't call him that!" Dean spat, "Only _I_ call him Sammy!"

"Psh. I'm just supporting the troops. I felt compelled to write him something truly inspired," Gabriel said, "Don't worry, I didn't tell him you were in the can. I only told him nice things."

Dean fidgeted on his feet. "He said you sent him shoes. How the hell did you send him shoes?"

"Dean, my friend. You think I don't got people on the outside? I had a friend of a friend send him some. I couldn't stop thinking about those enormous feet." Gabriel grinned. The first letter he had written to Sam had been brief and asked for his precise measurements. Upon receiving the numbers, Gabriel had been astounded that such proportions could exist. Naturally, he got to wondering if all of Sam was equally large. "Such large feet deserve magnificent shoes. Anyway, I like writing Sam. It's romantic to write to a soldier overseas."

"You think everything is romantic!" Dean groaned.

Dreamily, Gabriel sighed, "I told him I was a tailor-poet-singer-shoemaker and that I met you when you came to my shop to buy a new suit. It was such a sweet story. He liked it."

"How many times have you written each other?" Dean frowned.

"Not telling." Gabriel winked. "Turns out the way to a soldier's heart is with a pair of new shoes."

"Well…He did like the shoes. Thanks for that," Dean remarked sheepishly, "He said to tell you he appreciated them."

"What else did he say about me?" Gabriel perked up and edged to the side of his bed.

"Nothing." Dean shrugged. "Oh, well, he said you're a swell guy."

"Really? I want to see!"

"No!" Dean hissed and disappeared before Gabriel could pester him more. He would have told Gabriel not to write Sam anymore, but he knew it wouldn't make a difference. Dean wasn't enthused by the thought of Gabriel intending to charm his innocent brother from afar. At the same time, he knew Sam was in dire need of kind words from the US. In the end, Dean could only be thankful that Sam was alive and had new shoes.  
  


* * *

  
  
The light of the library storage room seemed warmer than the lights of any other location in the prison, although there was nothing particularly extraordinary about the bulbs hanging overhead. The orange glow illuminated the sweaty, relaxed bodies of Dean and Castiel as they rested in their secret alcove.

"Exhaust," Dean muttered as he took respite in Castiel's arms in nothing but his olive drab underpants. Dean's freshly mended hand was lying on the cloth that loosely covered Cas' leg. Dean could feel Castiel's bare chest rising against his back and then falling with his exhalation of cigarette smoke.

"Hm?" Castiel was so comfortable and cozy with Dean settled in his lap that he didn't have the will to form a complete question. Cas nuzzled his face gently against Dean's short hair before lifting his cigarette to his lips again to give it another needy suck.

"You smoke every day. That's just another form of exhaust, isn't it?" Dean said and lifted his green gaze to Cas' satisfied face, "You said you didn't like exhaust."

"It's not the same," Castiel smiled and let the smoke from his lips seep into light gray curls away from Dean's face.

"It's worse!" Dean's eyes widened. "Because that's going directly into your lungs! Exhaust from cars just goes into the air where it can't hurt anybody."

"It's not the same. You can't compare them," Castiel reasoned, "Exhaust from cars is mechanical, man-made. Tobacco is natural. Smoking is good for you, everyone knows that."

"Bull. Shit."

"Smoking keeps me warm and happy, just like you," Castiel answered tenderly and brushed his fingers over Dean's handsome face with love. He touched the Winchester's lips and passed his smoke to his beautiful, obliging mouth. Dean liked to share whatever he could with Cas since they owned so little between them. Their post-coital cigarettes were among the most blessed things they had to share. As expected, Dean drew a pleased drag. Castiel was engrossed by the way Dean's eyelids lowered and the way he unknowingly caressed down his leg as he borrowed his cigarette.

"The doc smokes," Cas said softly, not really focusing completely on their conversation, "If smoking was bad, the doc wouldn't smoke."

"Yeah. He also drinks like a fish and is as blind as a bat. Frank ain't a model of perfect health. You don't give a shit what the doc does. Anyhow, it's logic. Putting smoke straight into your lungs has to be worse than breathing a little bit in the air. If one is bad, they're both bad. Smoke is smoke is smoke." Dean paused. "Just admit it, Cas. If smoking doesn't bother you, exhaust can't bother you."

"What is this all about? Are you that hurt about what I said about cars?"

"You don't hate cars," Dean said firmly, narrowing his eyes, "Fess up."

"You don't hate Christians," Castiel answered, tilting his head and wearing a self-satisfied smile.

"Son of a bitch."

Castiel brought their lips together, enjoying the hot combination of his addiction with his most cherished man. The taste of nicotine on Dean's tongue had a treasured place in Cas' heart. He only pulled away from Dean's mouth to keep his cigarette from going to waste. Wasting anything, especially a cigarette, was unfathomable to Cas. His gaze was serious as he addressed Dean again. "You don't hate Christians, do you?"

"You ass. Is that what you think?" Dean responded, but promptly noted the worried expression Cas wore, "Of course not. Mom was Christian – the best kind. I don't hate Christians. I just hate religions and what they do to people. A lot of people…not Mom."

He would have said 'not you,' but Cas was serving time for a crime so awful he never talked about it.

Dean took another pull from the waning stick of tobacco. Thinking about his mother raised Dean's spirits even though she was dead because his mother had been one of the only indisputably good things Dean had ever known of the world. "I went to church, Cas. We only ever went because of Mom, but it still counts. And after she died, Dad didn't stop taking us. It meant a lot to her…"

Castiel smoked as Dean told his story, keeping his free hand pressed on the heated skin of Dean's abdomen. Dean could have said anything to Cas in that moment and Cas would have loved it. In return, Dean always felt safe and at ease in Castiel's presence in spite of whatever darkness his friend contained. There was not a story more revealing or personal Dean could tell Cas than the first story he had ever told him so he felt secure revealing other things to Cas. Dean shared memories from his childhood like it was only natural that Cas should know them.

"It was funny 'cause Dad was like me. He thought it was total bunk but he took us anyway. Sam is the only one that really took up believing like Mom, but even he fell asleep at church," Dean grinned at the recollection of Sam drooling in church and of Sam hiding novels in Bible covers. Dean whined, "It's so god damned boring, Cas. Why do preachers do that – make God as exciting as watching paint dry?"

"I don't know. I've always preferred studying privately," Castiel responded, drunk from Dean's closeness.

"Mom was the best. Even I didn't mind all that malarkey when Mom went on about it. She really loved angels," Dean reflected far back to a time before he'd ever been hurt by anyone. He found it hard to believe there had ever been a time when he had lived in innocence. He was glad that his mother had not lived to see what he had become. She had only known the best of him. Wistfully, Dean said, "Every night she said that angels were watching over me."

 _What an idea._ Dean smiled even if the only angel to ever watch over him had been his mother.

Cas loved when the Winchester shared pleasant stories because he so often dwelled on everything that was wrong with the world. He understood that much of Dean's greatness must have come from the gentle woman that had raised him. Dean's retelling of his life painted his father harshly and his mother beautifully, leading Cas to suspect that Dean likely resembled his mother most. With the cigarette extinguished, Castiel could use both arms to draw Dean close. "I don't hate cars."

"I knew it." Dean looked at Cas with affection. "Nobody hates cars."

Castiel pressed his lips to Dean's face and neck.

"You know, that's the first thing I'd do if we were free…" Dean began, which made Castiel sigh. They were never going to be free, at least not together.

"I'm going to die here," Cas replied softly to the Winchester's ear, hoping Dean would take his cue and shut up about being free.

Dean ignored him. "I'd take you for a ride in my car. Anywhere. Then we'd fuck in the backseat like people are meant to do."

"You wouldn't fuck me outside of these walls," Castiel chuckled. Inwardly, he felt sad because Dean's fantasies were just fantasies, and Cas was certain he only got to hold him because Dean had no better option than him. Cas had no idea how much it pained Dean that he was unable to show Cas the car he loved so dearly.

Thoughtfully, Castiel trailed his finger over the bullet wound on Dean's right shoulder with incredible delicacy. The skin surrounding Dean's injury was marred and still pink because it had been torn open anew several times since he'd been in prison. Dean flinched and Castiel apologized, unaware that he had been stroking such a sensitive part of his body. More than anything, Cas was sorry he couldn't turn Dean's mutilated flesh fresh and new. "Does it still hurt?" Castiel asked.

"I notice it most in the morning or when it's cold, but it's not too bad," Dean answered. Dean would never complain about having been shot or about having gone off to war and Cas found that remarkable. That bullet wound was an emblem of many things he loved about Dean. Dean was the man that threw himself in front of a bullet, expecting to die, to protect his brother.

"I would fuck you outside of these walls," Dean whispered. "Especially in the car, but anywhere else too."  
  


* * *

  
  
Dean was mopping the floor of the library to a beautiful shine when a man approached him full of anxiety. It was Crazy Martin who had been known to the world as Martin Creaser before he had assaulted a couple he had believed to be vampires. Martin didn't belong with them, Dean thought. Dean was sure the twitchy, elder man needed to be in the care of a hospital, but mental hospitals were scarce and, because he had a history of violent crime, Martin was locked away with them, without a single doctor to ease his agitated mind. Martin beckoned Dean with a hand, nervously looking from side to side.

"What is it, Martin?" Dean asked in a normal voice, partly because he knew it would alarm the man. True to expectations, gray-haired Martin gasped and brought a finger to his lips to urge Dean to be quiet. He edged toward Dean and slipped a piece of paper into his hand. Curiously, Dean unfolded the paper.

> _DON'T TRUST CASTIEL._

Dean gave Martin an irritated glare and the man responded by shuffling through his pockets for another piece of paper and a pencil. He wrote messy scrawls on the paper, using his hand as a writing surface. When the second note was written, Dean read the following words:

> _The Chicago Trib_
> 
> _Feb. 4_ _th_ _1932_
> 
> _He's not human._

Angry and insulted before anything else, Dean growled, "Do you need a book or what?"

Castiel emerged from several rows of shelves down and waved when he saw Martin beside Dean. When he spoke to him, the frayed older man turned a few shades lighter. "Hello, Martin."

"H-Hi…" Martin trembled. Looking at Dean, he said, "You're a good patriotic American, son."

Martin exited rapidly, leaving Dean upset and puzzled. _Fucking geezer_. He stuffed the wads of paper into his pocket and sighed. Castiel called out to Dean. "What was that?"

"Nothing. Crazy Martin being Crazy Martin." Dean went back to mopping, but considered Martin's warnings and the date he'd been given. He thought about showing the slips of paper to Cas, but Charlie came running in, needing help. Dean pushed the notes out of his mind, figuring he could address them later.

Charlie didn't read books, he inhaled them. He came by more often than anyone else. Today, as usual, he had a list ready. Dean and Cas divided the list up to find everything Charlie wanted.

"What's _The Hobbit_?" Dean asked as he organized the man's stack of books.

"Only one of the best books of the last decade," Charlie answered smugly, "I've already read it, twice."

"Then why are you reading it again?" Dean grumbled, "Get a new book!"

"I like it. It's one of my favorites."

Dean turned the book over in his hands. "What's it about?"

"A hobbit," Charlie replied with a considerable amount of sass.

"Well, I figured. But, what's a hobbit?" Dean scrutinized the object in his hand and scanned a few pages of it.

"A hobbit is a little person with hairy feet."

" _That's_ what this thing is about?" Dean gawked. "He's the hero? A hobbit?"

"Just read it." Charlie rolled his eyes, unable to comprehend how Dean could be so ignorant of such a masterpiece. "I can come back for it in the afternoon."

"It's good," Castiel assured Dean.

Dean trusted Cas enough to forget the words Martin had given him again and instead spend the rest of the day reading _The Hobbit_ spread out on a desk. Dean used other books as a pillow and reclined like he was on a sofa as he flipped through Tolkien's work. As he read, Dean made a point of complaining that he was too much of a grown-up to enjoy a fairy tale.

"You're too grown up for hobbits, but not too grown up for comics? Okay, I'll write that down," Castiel teased only to receive an indignant look from the man sprawled out on the desk.

Dean almost put the book down halfway through the first chapter, but he wanted to find out what the big deal was, so he read on. The more he read, the less he talked. He liked the fact that the book had a dragon and was surprised when it took a warlike turn. The book had more action than he had expected. Some of it he loved, like the defeat of many mythical creatures, but other parts he found hit too close to home. Naturally, the book ended with some of his favorite characters meeting terrible ends. He hadn't expected to find himself so attached to dwarves. Charlie returned as Dean was stuck in a Middle-Earth reverie. The redhead sat down by the Winchester.

"Well?"

"Well. It was okay," Dean answered, still feeling above showing open enjoyment of something so fanciful and written for children. "There was too much singing in it. And all of the names were hard to remember. Why can't they have regular names, like Bob?"

"That's all you took from it?" Charlie raised a brow. "Bob? Bob the Hobbit? You think they all should have been named something like Bob?"

"Well, there's twenty different dwarves in this thing and not a single one has a normal name, like John."

"There were thirteen! Did you even read it?" Offended, Charlie took the book from Dean's hands.

"It was alright!" Dean said, "I liked the brothers… and the part with the creepy guy in the cave. Go – lam? Smeag-what's-his-face. It wasn't bad for a kid's book."

"He liked it." Castiel translated. "I think I saw him cry."

"No I didn't!" Dean blabbed and rolled off the desk. He made like he was going to clean something, but wasn't sure where to begin. "It was _okay_ is all I'm sayin'. So shut up. I've got work to do."

Charlie held the beloved book in his arms and focused on Cas as Dean busied himself. "I finished that thing you asked for."

"Good. Thank you," Castiel replied.

"It's going to be amazing. You can say or play anything and everyone will hear, but – "

"What thing?" Dean cut in. He looked at Cas and Charlie, but Cas seemed reluctant to let Charlie say more. Castiel exuded an ominous vibe that prompted Charlie to leave. "Thanks for the book," Charlie said, "Later, fellas."

"What thing?" Dean repeated his question. "Cas?"

There was more than one reason why Castiel had wanted to learn Latin, but he hadn't been willing to tell Dean all of them. Finally, he realized it would be best to explain. "I'm going to perform an exorcism," he said.

Dean only responded by laughing at Castiel. Such a ridiculous notion deserved to be the subject of mockery. Quite serious, Castiel elaborated, "Charlie set up a line into the intercom system where I can say anything and the entire prison will hear it."

"You're serious." Dean's face dropped. "Why would you do that? They'll put you into solitary!"

"I have a theory I want to test," Castiel said.

"What theory?"

"Demons. I know they exist. They have to, and I'm going to prove it," Castiel began, which made Dean extremely uncomfortable. Dean disliked talking about anything related to the supernatural, but especially those things related to his case or demons. Of course, Cas wanted to prove demons were real for Dean's sake. "If any place is bound to have demons, don't you think it would be here? Among criminals? So I'm going to exorcize everyone."

"You're really pissing me off, you know that, right?" Dean walked away from Cas and set out to angrily dust everything in sight. First, Bobby in his letter had to suggest there was more to his case than meets the eye, and now Cas _again_ , refused to believe Dean would do something horrific without a reason. There was nothing that could justify his crime. Dean thought Bobby and Cas both needed to wake up and accept that he was simply a rat no better than any other murderer. There weren't any demons and there were no excuses to be made. Only bad people.

"It's worth a try," Cas said, "I found an official exorcism, sanctioned by the Roman Catholic Church. The Rituale Romanum – "

"Don't you fucking even start."

It was bad enough knowing that he'd killed his wife without being reminded of the madness he'd believed during and after his crime. Dean regretted having told Cas his full story when he had been in a moment of weakness because Cas believed in him. Dean also regretted having told Cas that he still thought of Lisa almost every day. His guilt could never disappear and it was his fault that Cas was trying to do something about it to make him feel better. Dean was incensed because, even if the exorcism worked, it would be several months too late to save Lisa.

"It's fucking stupid is what that is," Dean grumbled into the rag he was using, desperately hoping that Castiel would change his mind.

The next day, however, words in Latin rang enigmatically from every wall in the institution. Dean was expecting them because it was right after lunchtime and Castiel hadn't joined him in the library. He clenched his jaw in rage and had a strong desire to break something.

" _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_ …"

"You fuck!" Dean shouted at the walls, knowing Cas was somewhere about to get himself into serious trouble. "You idiot!"

" _Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio…"_

Martin froze in the yard, listening to words spoken in the voice he feared. Castiel had an otherworldly power that stilled Martin's blood when he heard him speak the foreign incantation.

_"Infernalis adversarii, omnis legio…"_

"What the fuck is that?" Miggs Masters groaned to his fellow inmate as he hedged some bushes. "Is that Latin?"

_"Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica..."_

Death sat up on his bed, recognizing Castiel's voice immediately. He listened to the words with interest.

_"Ergo draco maledicte…"_

Gabriel had stopped mopping the hallway he was in to listen to the exorcism. He rested his forehead against his mop, praying silently that Uriel wouldn't find Cas and beat him. _Please, God, anyone but Uriel_. Gabriel's lips cracked into a smile and then a full laugh when he thought of what the warden's face must have looked like as he listened to the words.

 _"Et omnis legio diabolica_ , _adjuramus te."_

Edgar the guard got the message to scour the entire prison for whoever was disturbing the peace. All the other guards got a similar message and were disturbed by varying degrees by the contents of the chants.

_"Cessa decipere humanas creaturas,_

_eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare._

_Vade, Satana, inventor et magister_ ,  
 _omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis._  
 _Humiliare sub potenti manu dei,_  
 _contremisce et effuge, invocato a,_  
 _nobis sancto et terribili nomine,_  
 _quem inferi tremunt."_

Uriel and Andréal ran past Ruby, shouting urgently at each other because Zachariah was furious. Castiel was hidden away in an infrequently used room and showed no fear when the guards opened the door. By the time they found Castiel, he was finishing his exorcism with the precise execution of a brilliant scholar.

Defiantly, Castiel chanted, " _Benedictus deus. Gloria patri."_

An excruciating, mechanical screech was heard across the prison as the microphone was torn from Castiel's hands.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel receives a harsh punishment that forces him apart from Dean. In his absence, Dean investigates Castiel and Charlie and Gabriel attempt to keep Dean company. Meanwhile, Cas contemplates his guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! My computer actually started dying as I was writing this. I hope you don't mind long chapters, because this one is especially long.

"We found the poet," Uriel said, hauling Castiel into the warden's office by his shoulder and shoving him into a chair. Castiel was unharmed, but he knew he was going to be punished harshly in spite of the fact that he had not physically hurt anyone. Challenging the warden's authority was a more severe transgression than tearing a fellow inmate apart. Castiel knew that well. Uriel and Andréal stood with their nightsticks ready. The ripped—now useless—microphone was planted on the displeased warden's desk.

Zachariah had been waiting, which was something he hated doing. The warden had planned on leaving early that day, but instead, he was reclining on the edge of his desk, looking down at Castiel with a degree of loathing that permeated the air. Castiel's recitation and the sudden death of one of the guards that occurred during it were now going to keep the warden late. Dr. Devereaux would report that the cause of death of the guard was a seizure completely unrelated to Castiel's words. Nevertheless, there would be a considerable amount of paperwork for the warden to complete. Zachariah hated paperwork as much as he hated waiting.

"Castiel," Zachariah said. The corner of one of his eyes twitched from the pains he was taking to keep his voice neutral. "What were you doing?"

"I was purifying the prison, sir."

Irritated, Zachariah squinted up at the ceiling. Ever since Zachariah had quoted some Bible verses to Castiel only to be corrected by the inmate, the warden had detested him. Zachariah despised almost every man under his care, but he believed Castiel was haughty, disturbing, and reprehensible in a particularly offensive way. Zachariah saw Castiel's piousness and good manners as mockery. For fear of making his disgust for Cas more evident, the warden momentarily held his tongue. He craved a drink, but wouldn't dare drink in front of Cas. Finally, in a measured tone, he said, "The intercom system is only for the use of the staff."

"Apologies, warden," Castiel said, "I thought the exorcism would benefit everyone, including the staff."

Zachariah shot him a look. "The what?"

Castiel inhaled a thoughtful breath before frowning as he explained, "I was performing an exorcism. Are you not familiar with the Rituale Romanum?"

"Of course I – I know," Zachariah snarled, "That's not the point. I don't care if you were singing 'Ave Maria.' You've set a bad precedent. You start violating the rules a little here and a little there, and then everyone starts to get ideas. Ideas, Castiel, that don't belong in my penitentiary."

The handsome convict had the audacity to smirk and nonchalantly cast his gaze away from the warden. He was silent to avoid voicing any of the imprudent thoughts on his mind.

Zachariah closely examined Castiel and noted a difference in the man. Castiel appeared every bit as dashing and relatively youthful as the last time the warden had entertained him in his office. Castiel's dark hair was just as thick and envy stirring as it had been the first time the warden had ever looked upon Cas. Yet, his manner of being was more insolent and casual. Cas wasn't as frozen as he had once been.

"Did you make this device yourself?" Zachariah inquired, indicating the microphone on the table.

Castiel was quick to lie to cover for Charlie and, thankfully, the warden believed him. After tense, awkward moments of condescending lecturing, Castiel was escorted out of the warden's office. The prisoner was left in solitary where he would remain to serve as a warning to others not to disturb the peace of the prison or abuse the equipment of the institution. Meanwhile, agitated and alone in his office, the warden caved in to have an early afternoon drink.

 

* * *

  
  
"Two weeks?" Dean exclaimed. "Two weeks? That's not fair! That doesn't make any damn sense. He didn't do anything. Nobody got hurt. He was barely on the intercom for a minute or two."  
  
"Yes, sir, two weeks," Uriel replied. "Serves him right." Uriel had been on his patrol when Dean had hurried up to him begging him for news of Cas. The guard had been so annoyed by Dean that he'd given him all the information he knew.

"The punishment doesn't fit the crime," Dean asserted firmly, "If there even was a crime."

"Disturbing the peace, messing with the intercom. Those are things the warden doesn't take lightly." Uriel tilted his head to the side, observing Dean with keen interest. "What did you do to him? To Castiel?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I don't know how, but I know this has to do with you," Uriel answered, "He's been different ever since you came along."

Not knowing how to respond to that, Dean frowned and kept quiet. He put his hands on his hips and considered the gravel beneath their feet. Dean knew so little about Castiel that he couldn't judge what affect, if any, he'd had on the man.

"He _likes_ you," Uriel declared with a bright smile suddenly bursting on his dark face. His expression was one of triumph as he shook his finger at Dean knowingly. They had been spending so much time together that Castiel must have picked up some of Dean's attitude. Now, Uriel thought, everything made sense.

Again, Dean was caught speechless. Of course Castiel liked him. They liked each other. There was nothing extraordinary in any of that. Still, Dean's mind was scattered by whatever insinuation Uriel was making. The smile the guard wore suggested he meant his words in a weighty manner.

"Before you even ask, no, there ain't a thing you can do to get Castiel out early," Uriel said, "If you bother the warden, he might even make it three weeks, instead of two. Then we'll all have problems on our hands."

Dean kicked the dirt. "What a load of crap."

"Well, tell Castiel not to be so hare-brained next time." Uriel tipped his hat and walked away grinning. "Later, Winchester."

"I did," Dean grumbled to himself after Uriel had left him behind. "It didn't do any good." Dean shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, wondering what he would do without Cas for two full weeks. Half a month would slip by him without his best friend. Disgruntled, Dean rapidly plummeted into a foul mood.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
"He didn't do anything!" Dean complained to Charlie as they worked in the library together the next day. Charlie had volunteered to help Dean since Castiel was gone. The redhead was motivated to work there because he had free time on his hands and he enjoyed being in the library, but he was also curious about Cas.

"At least he didn't get a beating," Charlie answered, "Anyhow, Castiel likes being alone. I bet he'll be fine."

"No, he won't. It's torture in there. Two weeks is way too fucking long for anyone. I can't believe that bastard Zachariah. Who does that to people? Self-righteous, nasty son of a bitch."

Charlie cringed at the thought of being put in solitary for two weeks for something so trivial. He thought the warden must have really hated Castiel. Earlier, Charlie had gotten an earful from Dean for having helped Castiel on his unwise experiment. He didn't want to make his time in the library with Dean worse by expressing his opinions about the warden's unfair animosity towards Cas. Charlie tried to look on the bright side of things, hoping he could help calm Dean. "Castiel is a very patient, spiritual guy. With a mind like his, he won't be bored. And Cas is tough!"

Paying little attention to the words of his companion, Dean fumed, "It's the principle of the thing. This is America, God damn it. We're locked up, but we're still citizens of the USA. There's no democracy in this system at all. Where'd he get the two weeks from? Did he look it up in a rulebook? No! I bet he just said, 'Fuck Cas, two weeks for him.' That's tyranny."

"But there's nothing we can do about it," Charlie responded.

"Exactly. Fucking totalitarianism. Who's going to give a shit if one of us rots away in the hole?" Dean grumbled.

"I'm sorry," Charlie said, pausing from organizing his stack of books.

Realizing how obvious he was making his deep concern for Cas, Dean made an effort to look less aggravated. He failed at the task. He was wounded on Castiel's behalf and worried about what would become of him in his lonely, distant, and secluded cell.

Without Castiel, days dragged on. The library was so empty without the quiet man. Work was dull and Dean went through the motions with little care. Charlie's help was appreciated, but Dean missed his long conversations with Castiel. Castiel was the only person with whom he could share the most intimate details of his life. Cas was the only person that so deftly soothed Dean's body and mind.

Usually, Charlie and Dean talked about comics, books, and radio shows, but lately they mainly discussed Castiel. Charlie knew he was stepping on a boundary when he addressed Dean about his relationship with Cas, but he said what he thought needed to be said. Unbidden, Charlie advised, "Don't be too hard on Castiel when he comes back."

"I'm gonna tear him a new one," Dean grit out. It turned out that Dean's anger didn't dissipate as the week wore on. It merely shifted back and forth from Zachariah to Cas. Zachariah was a despot and Castiel was a fool.

"Don't," Charlie pressed. He pushed his glasses up and pursed his lips, trying to think of a way to form his next words. Dean and Castiel's relationship reminded him a little of a relationship he'd had with one of his former boyfriends. "Cas really likes you," Charlie said, "It will only make him feel so much worse."

Dean froze because that was the second time that week that someone had pointed out Cas' preferences for him. Dean was self-conscious about how much everyone knew of their relationship and was pitifully unaware of how deep it was himself.

"You should see what he's like when he's not around you," Charlie said softly to fill the silence, "He's not personable at all."

"What do you know?" Dean scoffed, "I've been here longer than you."

"Yeah, but – " Charlie faltered, "Just trust me, Dean. If you're hard on him when he gets back, it'll really hurt his feelings."

"Christ! You talk like we're going steady," Dean moaned and didn't hear Charlie mumble under his breath that they more or less were. "Alright already. I'll give him a big hug when he gets out. We'll hold hands and kiss."

Dean's attempt at sarcasm was unsuccessful because he inwardly found his propositions appealing. He did miss kissing Castiel. He missed watching him smoke and watching him read. Dean missed the warmth of his body and he even missed playing and losing at chess. He missed the innocence that surrounded Castiel's strange core of protective violence. Dean missed the beauty of his face and the way Cas listened to his every word like each syllable was an inspiration. Uncomfortable with his thoughts, Dean left Charlie and went to clean an area of the library that wasn't often cleaned.

 _Damn it, Cas. It's only been four days_. Dean moped as he dusted, completely absorbed in pining after Castiel until he realized he was dusting near the newspaper section. The library had a small archive of old newspapers, mainly donated by the guards that read papers daily. There was enough room in the library to store them there in case they should ever be needed. The library carried the local papers and a few of the more renowned newspapers from other states.

_The Chicago Tribune._

Dean stared at the newspapers and abandoned his dusting rag. February 4th, 1932 was a date that Dean had memorized because it had to do with Cas. Dean was clever enough to realize it was most likely the day Cas had been arrested or had committed his crime. Yet, only now was Dean looking at the newspaper stacks that could contain important information about the convict he loved most. Dean had not investigated Castiel until now for many reasons. He didn't trust the word of Crazy Martin and he had been too distracted by Castiel's stunt and his subsequent punishment.

Most importantly, he found he didn't want to know. Dean was afraid he would read something horrible about Castiel that would render him irredeemable in his eyes. Dean admired him so distinctly that he needed to believe Cas was an okay guy even though he knew he probably wasn't. Whatever was in the Chicago Tribune had the power to tarnish his image of his beloved friend. _It doesn't matter. The past is the past._

Slyly, Dean checked his surroundings. Then, he lunged at the stacks of newspapers. They were so infrequently searched that the area they were in had accumulated considerable piles of dust. When Dean came across the Chicago Tribune, he searched eagerly for the date of interest. Instead of finding that particular paper, he found an area on the shelf that was cleaner than the rest. "It's not here," Dean muttered to himself.

Dean could find December of 1931 and January of 1932, but every date after that until 1933 was gone. It wasn't just the Chicago Tribune. Every other paper they had was missing eleven months of news from 1932. Dean frowned. The lack of papers from that time period was intentional.

1932 had been a lifetime ago for Dean. All he remembered from that era was suffering with Sam. Specifically, Dean remembered watching his hometown waste away like every other town, he remembered his dad shedding pounds until he no longer resembled himself, and he remembered giving Sam his portions of food at least once every day. The only job his father had had during those times was of the illegal variety and Dean had protected Sam from learning about what his father did to get them food. Criminal behavior, like military service, was something that ran in the family. Only, in 1932, many families were reduced to theft and other illicit behaviors to combat their hunger.

 _I would have been thirteen. Is Cas that much older than me?_ At such a young age, Dean may have been kept ignorant of whatever horrific news surrounded Castiel's case. He also would have been too busy trying not to starve to care much if anything else happened in the world. There was a reason why those years became known as The Great Depression.

Scores of people had committed suicide and done things that were unlawful during that era. Abject poverty and ruin could not be an excuse for whatever Castiel had done, but they may have offered part of an explanation. A voice fell on Dean's ears.

"Oh, good. There you are. I'm looking for the latest Hemingway. Have you got it in yet?"

Dean lifted his gaze to Death's figure. The older man was staring at him with expectation, but Dean couldn't get his mind off of Cas. "What did Cas do?"

"I believe he performed a shoty exorcism. I thought you would have heard," Death answered, "Hemingway?"

"No, I mean. What's he in for?" Dean clarified. Somehow, Death wasn't surprised that Dean was in the dark about the most significant detail about his closest companion.

"Murder. I thought that was obvious."

"Yeah, I figured that, but what's the story? I tried to look for it. February 4th 1932. All the papers are gone."

"Are they? That's very fascinating. Perhaps we can discuss this more over Hemingway?" Death said, growing impatient.

"Do you know the story?" Dean asked. "I figure maybe you do because you're so…" _Old_. A person of advanced age like Death would be able to remember 1932 with clarity. "Knowledgeable."

"Do I look like a gossiping schoolgirl? Castiel got rid of those papers for a reason. I'd assume because he doesn't want you to know," Death remarked. His words proclaimed what Dean feared. Dean didn't want to consider Castiel as a conniving type.

"But you do know, don't you? Am I the only person that _doesn't_ know?" Dean tapped his foot nervously and moved his hands in an anxious manner. "What's the story? Wait, it's not kids, is it? Oh, God. Don't tell me if it's kids. I wouldn't want to know. I just want to know what happened. But, it's got to be something awful."

"What does it matter if it was a child or an adult?" Death answered. He found Dean's reasoning flawed and perplexing. "Do you think the life of a child is more sacred than that of a man?"

Easily, Dean nodded. Taking any life was horrific, but children were in another class.

"But, as soon as that child reaches a certain age, his or her murder would not be so appalling?" Death raised a brow. "How singular. I don't think you really want to know at all, and I don't believe I can tell you anything since we were all children at one time."

"Listen, Death. Don't get wise with me. You know exactly what I mean."

"I'm afraid I don't, Dean," Death responded, "Man, woman, child. In death, all our souls are equal. A soul doesn't change from child to man. A soul is a soul. You, Castiel, and I are all guilty of sending souls to the other world."

"I just want an answer."

"But one you won't hate?" Death interjected. He took a breath and went on, "He was an errant priest. He burned down a Catholic school. Full of children."

Dean's jaw went slack as he felt the blow. That wasn't the answer he had wanted to hear at all. The wheels in his head were turning quickly. Now, Dean knew he shouldn't have asked, but he couldn't unlearn what he had just heard. "No," Dean snorted incredulously, "No, that can't be right. That doesn't sound like Cas. You're wrong. What's the real story?"

Death chuckled, which was not a pleasant sound at all. "You're right. That isn't the truth. Merely one of the many rumors circulating about your 'Cas.' Only those of us that have been around long enough know the truth."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want to think of Castiel as a child incinerator. He was afraid of what Death would say next.

"Amusing that my lie should upset you. What if I told you the truth was worse?" Death prodded. "Or perhaps, 'better' in your estimation? Would it console you to know he only killed one person or two? That they were both adults?"

"Enough, alright. I get it." Dean lifted up a hand to stop Death. "I'll just ask Cas when he gets out."

"Word of advice, don't get too close to him." Death was no longer belligerent in his tone, and when Dean looked into his eyes, he thought he saw thinly veiled sympathy. "Hemingway?"

Perhaps the look in Death's eyes was only to lament the lack of Hemingway in his life.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Dean tried to sneak into the area where Castiel was being held twice. The first time, a guard told him to mind his own business and redirected him. Solitary wasn't called solitary because visitors were allowed. The second time, Dean stopped by in the evening and found the door to the hall where Castiel was kept shut and locked. He rested against the door and sighed. Castiel was so near and yet completely out of reach. _You are pathetic, Dean._

Dean retreated back to his cell to be counted for the night and settled into bed to re-read Sam's latest letter. The eldest Winchester didn't find much comfort in the letter he had received in Castiel's absence because its contents were so dark and despairing. Garth had left Sam's company and Sam was battling the guilt of surviving so much relatively unharmed. Sam had received honors for shielding the wounded Garth, stopping his bleeding, and saving his life, but Sam thought nothing he did could ever be enough. Sam wrote about what he could have done and what he should have done, as if it was his fault that his friends had been sent off on stretchers and in boxes.

"Can you believe this, Bets?" Dean looked up at the woman on the wall who smiled no matter what news Dean received. He knew only crazy people spoke to inanimate objects, but he didn't care. She was a girl of the war and she would understand the suffering of the Winchester brothers. "'I was always the least of all of you,' he says." He put the letter down on his lap. "It's like he wants to get shot."

Dean shook his head, anguished on Sam's behalf. "How could he ever think he was the least of us?"

Betty's sunny expression motivated Dean to write Sam a loving letter. There was a girl back home with golden hair to rival Betty's that thought Sam was the cat's pajamas. Before he could finish his letter, Dean succumbed to sleepiness. When he awoke, his first thoughts were of Cas. Hurriedly, he hid his letter to Sam and counted the days on his fingers.

_One week. One week down, one to go._

Today, Dean found Gabriel in the library instead of Charlie.

"Surprise!" Gabriel beamed.

"What are you doing here? What happened to Charlie?" Dean grumbled. It was too early to deal with Gabriel.

"What? I'm here to help. Geez, if I didn't know better, I'd think you like Charlie better than me."

"I do," Dean deadpanned.

"I would be offended by that, but I know it's just your broken heart crying out for help."

"Are you going to be like this the whole time?" Dean tried to ignore Gabe and started to clean up the library, but Gabe insisted on staying and conversing. Dean gave Gabriel work to do on the opposite end of the library from where he planned to work, but somehow, Gabriel's voice carried over to him. Throughout the course of the day, Dean heard tales of women Gabriel had bedded, admired, or been 'in love' with. The list was obscenely long.

"And then there was Kali," Gabriel sighed. "The most beautiful gal in the world."

Dean muttered snark under his breath. "You did say that about a few of them."

"She had silky black hair and dark brown eyes. She only ever wore saris – that's an Indian thing. She wore a different color everyday. Her father tried to kill me, but that only made me want her more."

Dean groaned and tried to tune him out because 'death threats from fathers' was just another popular myth of Gabriel's. He doubted the veracity of most of Gabriel's love stories. They were too strange to be authentic. No matter how silver-tongued and insistent Gabriel was, Dean doubted he could seduce a brunette acrobat and a blonde knife-thrower into a three-way. Whatever story Gabriel had with Kali was almost certainly at least half fabrication.

Sensing Dean's waning interest, Gabriel provoked him. "But enough about me. Why don't you tell me one of your stories, Dean-o? Oh, wait. You killed your last girl. Whoops."

Gabriel saw the next sequence of events occur in his mind before they happened in reality. He had crossed the line and he knew it. When he got Dean's attention in the form of a fist to his face, he wasn't surprised.

Gabriel had his finer points, but Dean had wanted to punch him for a long time. He was the housemate Dean had never wanted. Gabriel talked incessantly and liked to tease and incite to a fault. He was so hungry for attention that he was willing to get punched in the face for it. Still, as he held the cleanest wet rag they could find to the bruise on his cheek, Gabe looked at Dean with an apologetic expression. "You loved her, didn't you?"

A small part of Dean was sorry for having punched Gabriel, but then he remembered that it was Gabriel's fault that he was thinking about Lisa again. Dean gave an unexpectedly honest reply. "I don't know. And that only makes it worse."

Lisa had been Dean's second choice. His first choice had been a girl he had been unable to marry. His 'most beautiful gal in the world' was a girl that hadn't been allowed to go to the same school as him. She lived in a different neighborhood and went to a different church. Dean was never supposed to have spoken to her, but he had met her one day, and found himself in love for the first time in his life.

Gabriel watched pained sentiments of regret pass across Dean's countenance and knew he was thinking of a woman far away. Gabriel had already been punched once so he felt emboldened, betting that surely he could not get punched again. Daringly, Gabe inquired, "Was there somebody else?"

Dean had not thought of Cassie in a long time. He had never cheated on Lisa, but he had betrayed Cassie by conforming to what society expected of them. He had gotten to know her by taking a job his father had neglected. He had been tasked with the job of fixing Cassie's father's tractor, which was supposed to have been a quick job. Dean had only been there to meet her because her father's usual mechanic had been too busy and Bobby didn't care what color his costumers were as long as they paid. When Dean arrived at the farm and set to the task, he felt a pair of eyes on him.

Cassie had never seen a more beautiful boy and had not been able peel her eyes away from him no matter how hard she tried. She purposefully fed the chickens in a pathway that led to Dean. When she saw him sweat, she brought him lemonade. She brought him anything he needed, including things he hadn't known he had needed. Cassie had been bold. She sat by his side and inquired about the mechanics of tractors despite having zero interest in tractors. In return, Dean loved her skinny legs and the way she wore bright, floral dresses that matched her bright smiles. The day job turned into a week's worth of work.

Wearing the too-large jacket that belonged to his father, he had been a blushing, fumbling teenager around her. Although Dean never stopped feeling flustered in her presence, he couldn't stop grinning and wishing to see her as often as possible. Of course, when Cassie planted a kiss on his cheek and decided that he should be the man to take her virginity, Dean thought he would never be able to let her go. The tractor, the haystacks, and any place that was at least partially hidden away became their romantic playgrounds.

After being urged to finish the job on the farm quickly if he still had hopes of becoming a real mechanic, Dean fixed the tractor, but he didn't stop seeing Cassie. He found ways to disappear to find her, which usually involved playing hooky from school. His father didn't notice and Dean would never vanish when he was responsible for looking after Sam.

Dean had only been able to take her for a drive if she hid in the backseat until they were out of town. She would emerge, wearing a headscarf and giggling because she was amazed that Dean would go to such lengths to see her at all. She loved the car. More than anything, Cassie loved watching the stars with her head in his lap in the backseat. In those moments, Dean had been foolhardy enough to believe that he could marry her.

Cassie knew better and had been the one to break it off. After one spring together, they never spoke again. He would only see her if he really looked. Dean took Sam to get ice cream at the park furthest from their neighborhood just to see her from afar. He had already become disillusioned by much of the world by that point in his life, but, when Dean saw Cassie in the park, drinking from the fountain that was not meant for him, the idea that there was something very wrong with the world became firmly cemented in his mind.

No amount of women could make up for the hole Cassie had left in his heart. After Cassie, Dean bragged about his subsequent conquests, hoping that his boasts would give the impression of happiness. He had tried, but never succeeded in finding another woman that could astound him in such a pleasurable, exciting way.

Dean was ashamed that he had thought of Cassie on his wedding day, wondering if she had found someone that would have been acceptable to her family. Now, Dean wondered if he would have found himself in jail if he had married Cassie instead. He was never supposed to be in jail anymore than he was supposed to have met Cassie. Dean couldn't help but be amazed that his greatest ally and closest friend in prison shared such a similar name to his first love. Every now and then, Dean felt a nudge that he thought was a sign from God. That strange, sorrowful afternoon was one of those moments.

"Dean?" Gabriel waved a hand in front of Dean's face to bring him back to reality.

"Apart from Lisa, I've never dated anyone for more than a month or two," Dean said, "I've never cheated on anyone, especially not Lisa. I don't have any good stories, so stop asking."

Dean's love story wasn't full of death threats, serenades, or poems. It wouldn't make him proud or happy to share it with Gabriel, so he buried it away.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
A narrow opening on the door of Castiel's tiny cell was opened and a plate of food appeared in his view. Cas was locked in a place with no bed and only a sliver of a window, from which minimal light entered. He didn't move to touch the plate. As Charlie anticipated, Castiel's mind had been thoroughly engaged. He'd been occupied with prayer and thoughts of God, Dean, and the crime that he never mentioned to others.

At first, he had begun to neglect food because of his incredible internal fixation. He'd busily pondered the needs of his corporeal vessel and how it hungered for a satisfying meal and craved Dean's touch. Knowing he was a sinner beneath even the modest morsels placed before him, Cas thought his body was greedy and selfish. Worst of all, he'd allowed himself to become attached to someone that was too good for him. Castiel could become numb to the hunger that seeped into his bones. He could resist food, but he couldn't resist his desire for Dean. Each minute they were apart, Castiel only missed him more. His desire for the material enlarged the chasm between him and God.

After the second day alone, Cas made a conscious effort to fast. He humbled himself through his fast and begged God for forgiveness and guidance because he was lost in a wholly new way. He was guilty on so many levels and no amount of suffering could ever atone for his sins. No ritual purification could cleanse his wayward soul, but he still wished for the ability to give his body and soul to the Supreme Being for a noble purpose.

Cas didn't blame Zachariah for exiling him to his distant cell. In fact, he wished he could have been quarantined years ago. Two weeks in the hole was merciful and generous for all the wrong he had done in his life. As far as he knew, the world had never benefited from his presence.

Castiel was becoming weak. Whenever he felt faint, he drank water slowly. Suddenly, the youthful voice of his guard for the day reached his ears. "Castiel?" They were not supposed to speak to each other, but when he received no answer, the guard tried again. "Did you eat yesterday? Hello? Castiel?"

"Alfie…" Castiel croaked. His name was the first word he'd spoken in days. Andréal stilled on the other side of the wall.

"Nobody calls me that." The reason he had inquired about Cas' eating habits was because his plate from the day before appeared untouched. Now that he'd begun conversing with Cas, he found it difficult to stop.

"Alfie…" Cas whispered the guard's middle name in spite of his protest. "I didn't eat."

The tone of his voice was so soft that Andréal didn't hear him. "Are you okay in there? When was the last time you ate?"

"What would you do?" Cas asked. "If you were in my shoes?"

 _I would eat_ , Andréal thought. He shook his head. "What do you mean?"

"Would you try to disappear from the world?" Castiel rasped. _Would you die of shame?_ He thought of Dean, as he increasingly did. "What would you tell him?"

"What are you talking about?" Andréal's voice rang with mounting concern. He was glad Castiel was alert enough to speak, but suspected that his confinement was affecting his ability to reason.

"Why should I ever go back out there?" Castiel questioned. "If I go back I'll only cause him pain."

"Dean?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you friends? I thought – " Andréal gasped. _Oh_. "Does he honestly not know?"

"He doesn't know anything." Castiel felt his insides lurch. He was nauseated, more at himself than anything he had done to his body. "That's why I ask. What would you tell him?"

Against protocol and all better judgment, Andréal unlocked Castiel's cell and entered the room. What he saw in Castiel was hardly a man. He was a phantom of a person, waiting to die. Andréal got on his knees and tried to force Castiel to drink some water. Full of sympathy, he asked, "What have you done?"

Cas gently brushed the cup aside. "I don't deserve pity of any kind."

"You weren't put here so you could die!"

Castiel used a considerable amount of energy to focus his eyes on Andréal. "He won't answer me. I have no answers to anything. I still don't know what to say to Dean. I don't know – "

The young guard had trouble following Castiel's train of thought and was worried that he had become delirious from hunger and thirst. Only because he knew Castiel and because the convict turned his gaze to the bright slit above, did Andréal realize Cas was talking about God. Cas had the look of a desperate, forsaken man. Andréal considered Castiel's dilemma and couldn't come up with any answers either. "Maybe don't tell him anything. Don't say anything until you know what to say."

"I don't want him to know… Not a thing."

Ages ago, a soot and blood-covered, heartless face had been printed in the papers. That light-eyed monster appeared Andréal's mind's eye. The guard believed that the man of that headline and Castiel were the same person in name only. He saw none of that criminal in Castiel now, as he lay helpless from his self-induced torture. Andréal was compassionate in a way he had been warned by his superiors not to be. "I don't understand," He said softly and honestly, "You're not at all what I imagined you would be. I've never met a more learned man, so devoted to God. I know you protected Dean. I know you've watched over Gabriel. How could you have ever – "

Andréal cut himself short with the recognition that he had already done enough wrong for the day. As much as he wanted to trust and believe in Castiel, he was duty bound to keep him at arm's length. His only hope was that Castiel was delirious and that he would forget everything he'd said.

"I don't know." Castiel closed his eyes. He never wept, but his face, though dry, was expressive in its wretchedness.

"Castiel?" Andréal raised his plate to Cas. "Please eat."

"I would rather not."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
By Andréal's insistent urging, Castiel was released four days early. Before doing anything else, the newly freed man's legs moved of their own volition, carrying Cas directly to Dean. When he appeared in the doorway of the library, he saw Dean chatting to Gabriel. In his eyes, the sight of the two together created a scene from Paradise.

Both men turned and stared when Cas entered. They were equally elated to see him bathed in sunlight in the doorway. Dean and Gabriel broke into pleased, surprised smiles.

"You got out early!" Rejoicing, Gabriel sprung to his feet to get a good look at his friend. Castiel was filthy and the hair on his jaw had grown longer than Gabriel had ever seen it. Gabe pulled Cas into his arms even though it was evident that Castiel's clothing had not been laundered in a long time. Stunned and weary, Castiel couldn't match Gabriel's cheer. He stood in a daze.

Looking at Castiel again, Dean couldn't be anything but ecstatic. Unkempt as he was, Cas was absolutely perfect and Dean was thrilled to see him. Grinning from ear to ear, he walked to Cas and brushed his fingers on his unruly, overgrown facial hair. "Nice peach fuzz."

Dean's small gesture and the minuscule chuckle that followed it were marvels to Castiel. His eyes fixed on Dean and joy erupted into his heart so emphatically that he feared he might burst. Cas was at a loss for words. "Aw, Cas!" Gabriel snickered, "You've been away too long. You forgot how to talk again."

"Damn, it's good to see you again," Dean added as he fought to keep his hands to himself. Castiel opened his mouth slightly, but failed to produce words. Dean's smile faltered for a second. "Cas, buddy, you okay?"

Castiel nodded and Dean was so delighted to have him back that he didn't question him further. Every bit of hostility that had ever surrounded his thoughts of Cas evaporated. Dean cocked his head and said, "Let's clean you up, huh? You can borrow my razor."

Gabriel's approving and widening grin indicated that he had interpreted Dean's words sensually. "Yeah, Cas," Gabe teased. "Go. Borrow his razor."

"Shut up, Gabe," Dean hissed and grabbed Castiel by his shoulder. Castiel didn't protest as he was led from the library through the back door, but he did wonder why Dean had chosen to walk with him through the seldom-used hallway, rather than the main corridor. That was, until Dean paused to suddenly draw Cas into his arms. Dean held him tight, properly savoring the return of his friend. "I missed you," He admitted. "Don't leave like that again, okay?"

In the dim hallway, Castiel was enlightened to his purpose. The feeling that tore through Castiel's body and gave him the will to live shouted to his soul that there was one good thing left that he could do. It was the one thing he couldn't avoid doing. _I love you_.

Dean prepared to release Cas, but Cas pulled him back into his body. He wanted so desperately to do good and believed the only good he could still do in their desolate, lonely environment was to give Dean all of his love. Cas knew he was meant for the task. He was meant to protect Dean and bring him any bit of happiness he could in their prison.

They made their way to the communal showers. Dean was excited and chatted cheerfully with Cas. He complained about having been left alone with Gabriel and mentioned how he'd been subjected to listening to the tales of all of Gabriel's former lovers. Dean described Sam's latest letter and his response to its dreary contents. Castiel noted that Dean was having difficultly keeping his hands still and he thought he saw the hint of flushed skin on his cheek. "You've been wearing the same clothes the entire time, haven't you?" Dean observed. "Hey, don't sweat it, you can borrow my spare 'til you clean yours."

Dean drew Cas to one of the mirrors in the room adjacent to the showers and handed Cas a bar of soap. He commanded him to wash his face before his shave and Castiel obeyed. Dean whistled at the amount of grime that swirled down the sink. The Winchester didn't often feel particularly clean, but he was downright pristine in comparison to Cas. "Did they let you smoke?"

"No," Castiel croaked his first word to Dean.

"Don't worry, we'll get you some." Dean ran his hand in a brief, soothing motion over Castiel's back as the man dried his face. Dean busied himself with the lather and Castiel watched intently. When the first bit of cream was applied to his face, the blue-eyed convict recoiled.

"You don't have to do that," Cas said quietly, "I can shave myself."

Dean smirked and prepared to add more of the cool, white substance to Castiel's face. "I can't trust you with a book or a microphone. Why should I trust you with a razor?"

Cas swallowed and looked away. By now he'd almost completely forgotten why he had been punished in the first place.

"And, you've got shaky, smoker's hands. It's my treat. Trust me, I'm a pro," Dean answered, proud of his own handsomely shaven face.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel apologized. His fingers trailed over the edge of the sink.

"What for?"

"For what I did. It was stupid. I thought about it, and it makes sense – why it was a waste of time. Not even a demon would want to stay here," Castiel muttered. "It didn't do anything, did it?"

Dean could have easily told Castiel he told him so, but it didn't matter to Dean anymore. What mattered was that Cas was back. "Nah, not really." Dean hesitated before admitting something that even he found to be distressing. "Except…Well, don't go taking this the wrong way, but, uh, somebody died. While you were doing your thing."

Castiel's eyes widened, which was a funny look when his face was covered in shaving cream.

"Yeah, it was a guard. He had a seizure. Thing is, since it happened while you were doin' your little radio show, you spooked a lot of the guys. Now there's rumors you cast a spell and that you're a…" Dean paused, laughing. "A Satanist."

"What?" Castiel replied in horror.

"I know. These knuckleheads are fucking uneducated," Dean remarked as he cleaned his razor. Dean may have never graduated high school, but he knew how to distinguish his religious nuts. Cas was the good kind. With the tips of his fingers, Dean guided Castiel's head up, "Hold still."

He scraped away a clean segment on Castiel's jaw. Dean's green eyes met Cas'. "I defended you, you know. Your religious honor. 'Cas ain't a fucking Satanist,' I said. I wouldn't mind if you were, I guess. But, you're not."

Every word, every gesture of the Winchester stirred Castiel's growing sentiments for him. Cas would have never suspected that something as simple as a shave could restore him to health so effortlessly. Dean was careful and kind in a way that elicited awe in Castiel.

"Damn, you're hairy," Dean snorted. Then, frowning, he said, "I don't think I've ever seen you shave before. How often do you usually shave?"

"I don't like shaving. I try to do it as infrequently as possible," Castiel answered. "No more than two or three times a week."

Dean memorized that detail about Cas because he loved the other man's perpetual stubble. Dean was used to shaving almost every day in the military, but he preferred Castiel's jaw line distinctively unmanaged because that was how Cas liked it. The reason why Dean had never seen Castiel shave was the same reason he'd never seen him shower. When they were in the bathroom, they were usually surrounded by a multitude of men. They kept to a schedule and Dean couldn't afford to be caught lusting after Castiel in the presence of others. They had a tacit agreement to avidly avoid each other in the bathroom, which made their moment together now all the more unusually pleasing.

Dean wanted Cas in the shower so badly that he took some of the shortest showers of any of the men. He'd come to be thankful that the water was always so cold. It wasn't just the freedom to privately enjoy Cas' body wet and naked that Dean wanted. Dean longed for the ability to share a bed with him. He wanted to wake up next to Cas and watch him have his morning shave in calm, without the eyes of others upon them. Dean dreamed about having quiet mornings with Castiel in a house without worries. The house would be bright and full of things that they owned. They would never wear matching outfits again and they would have late, leisurely breakfasts on the weekends together. He shaved Cas, pretending that such a reality could be theirs.

"Looks good," Dean said when he was done. He cleaned Cas and openly admired his smooth face. Castiel had trouble meeting his eyes.

"Thank you," Cas answered, fully believing that he didn't deserve to be regarded with such tender and beautiful green eyes. He wanted to kiss Dean, but also worried that someone would enter. Castiel couldn't willfully contribute to Dean's shame or discomfort. Simply, he said, "I'm dirty."

Dean inhaled, unsure if he was being given an invitation. He swallowed hard and nodded for lack of knowing what else to do. Castiel took off his shirt and left it on the sink before wandering in the direction of the showers. _Okay, stay calm. It's alright, Dean. He's just dirty. So dirty. Stop! Cut it out, he's obviously tired._ While Dean inwardly battled with himself another convict passed by him. Dean couldn't decide whether or not to join Cas in the shower after the stranger left or to go get Castiel some fresh clothes. The nicest thing to do would probably have been to get the fresh clothing. Certainly, after Castiel's ordeal, he would need some time to recuperate. Perhaps it was unwise to inundate Cas in affection so soon.

The stranger left. Antsy, Dean bolted in the direction of the showers. It wouldn't hurt to take a peek, he reasoned. "Hey, Cas?"

Dean found Castiel naked, but the sight of him was alarming, rather than arousing. Cas was leaning against the tiled wall, shivering. Being around Dean had given him strength and had motivated him to bare a strong face, but as soon as the chilly water had poured over his body, Castiel crumpled into the pain he'd inflicted upon himself. His body was lean, dried up, and waning. He looked like he was one wrong move away from fainting. Dean rushed to his side and propped him up. "What's the matter?"

Castiel's face had turned a shade paler. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Bull _shit_. What did they do to you?" Dean snapped. "Did they hurt you? Who was it?" Castiel wouldn't answer and his atypical feebleness kindled the Winchester's fury. Dean had been worried that something like this would happen. He made a quick assessment and cursed under his breath. "They didn't feed you."

"No." Castiel furrowed his brows. Dean took his words the wrong way, but Cas promptly admitted the truth. "I didn't eat. Wouldn't eat."

"God damn it, Cas!" Dean brushed his dark, wet hair out of his face and tried to get the other man to meet his eyes. _You fucking idiot_. Displeased, Dean cried, "Why would you do something like that?"

"It was a fast," Castiel whispered. What had started as a fast had become an attempt to waste away, but he could never tell Dean that. "I'm sorry. I got carried away."

"A fast? For fuck's sake! Did you fast the entire time you were away? Did you eat anything? God _damn_ it." Dean supported Cas and did his best to put the man back together. Taking care of Cas and nursing him back to health became his sole goal from that instant on. Castiel didn't have the energy to explain himself completely, which was just as well because no explanation would have satisfied Dean. After hastily cleaning and clothing Cas, Dean half-carried Castiel to the kitchen and forced his way through to get Cas a fresh glass of water and a roll of bread. He glared at Castiel until he ate and drank and shouted at anyone that tried to disturb them.

His stomach had been empty for so long that he felt it fight the bread. Cas chewed slowly and swallowed with hesitation, but eventually the bread and water were consumed. Now that he had eaten, he was more ravenous than before. Dean filled up another glass of water and took more bread for later. He didn't leave the kitchen with Cas without threatening the new dishwasher. "You saw nothing."

Dean remained with Cas in his cell until he had had more to drink and eat. He commanded Cas to rest. When dinnertime came around, Dean switched plates with Cas when he saw the other man's portion was slightly smaller than his.

"What's the matter with Cas?" Gabriel asked Dean. "Hey, pal. You sick or somethin'?"

"He stopped eating," Dean replied in a surly, quiet tone. "But he's going to eat now."

Dean didn't leave Castiel's side for the rest of the evening. He remained in his cell with him until the last possible minute to watch over him. He sat on Cas' bed reading with Castiel's head propped in his lap. Dean kept one hand on his book and the other arm draped across Castiel's chest from where it could feel the slow, steady beats of his heart. Dean had to re-read the sentences of his book multiple times because nothing written in ink could be as interesting as Castiel. Drifting in and out of sleep, Cas said nothing, but he still occupied a huge portion of Dean's attention.

"You're such a child," Dean muttered, thinking that only a fool would starve himself for God or for any reason at all.

Castiel cracked his eyes open and regarded Dean with shame. Dean lowered his book, knowing that he had less than three minutes to return to his cell. Reluctantly, Dean slipped away and fluffed Castiel's pillow to prepare him for sleep. He bent over Cas and finally pressed their lips together. Castiel was surprised but reacted with pitiful eagerness because Dean's lips had filled his fantasies for days of solitude. Dean's tongue touched his cracked lips and he welcomed the deepening of their contact. Too soon, Dean parted. "Think about what you did," Dean breathed against his mouth. "And then never do it again."

With his book in hand, he left Castiel for the night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited with Dean, Cas becomes healthy again. As time passes in the prison, they pick up different hobbies and their intimacy grows.

Under Dean's vigilant eye, Castiel recovered. The dark-haired inmate returned to an even healthier state than before because Dean began to dote on him in a way he had never previously done. The time they had spent apart had been short, but monumental in its importance. Dean came to realize he needed Cas. He could not explicitly verbalize Cas' significance to him, but Dean did show the magnitude of his feeling for the other man in every other way he knew how.

Getting Castiel to eat again was only one perceptible consequence of Dean's heightened sense of devotion to Cas. Dean deliberately made a point to ask Castiel what was on his mind more regularly, especially when he appeared sullen. Dean relearned the soreness of losing at chess because he was aware of how much Castiel missed playing. Each time Dean lost, he cursed, but also smiled. Castiel's freckled companion promptly lit most of his cigarettes as a gentleman might have done for a cherished lady. Dean became bolder in how often he demonstrated physical affection as well, caring less about who might see. He kissed and held Castiel as if he was afraid he would wake up to find Cas gone.

Most of these gestures had become instinct to Dean. At the same time, Dean was also more keenly aware that Castiel's unknown crime must have been colored by a horror that matched, or surpassed, that of his own past. Dean had suffered hunger as a boy and could only imagine the mountain of guilt a man must be carrying to willingly enter such a state of slow, constant torment. Whether Cas acknowledged it or not, he needed support, and Dean was eager to provide it. Cas benefited from the increased attention he was getting, though he was oblivious to the meaning behind the quiet changes in Dean.

Castiel's fingers stroked a minuscule, adoring path along the small of Dean's back, just beneath the waist of his pants. Every inch of Dean's tanned skin was worthy of worship, but Cas especially loved this particular part of Dean's body. The first time Castiel had been aware of this desirable patch of Dean, the inmate had been fast asleep, unaware that Castiel had been observing him and the area of his body on display due to his tossing and turning. Now, Dean's mouth was hot on his.

They hadn't bothered to hide away in the library storage room, opting instead to find a secluded area behind a column outside during their free time in the yard. Castiel's hand lowered into Dean's pants to grope the perfect ass he'd missed so dreadfully in solitary and to pull their hips together. The sensation of touching Dean and of having the privilege of knowing how his skin felt when he was excited made Castiel feel fortunate in a way that exceeded anything he may have ever felt. During the fleeting interludes of his mouthfuls of Dean, Castiel whispered, "You are so beautiful."

Dean paused and gazed into Castiel's eyes, giving their lips a break. Coming from different man, Dean might have felt embarrassed, threatened, or offended by such a compliment, but Castiel was so transparent in his love and so unable to resist praising him that Dean could only appreciate his pure sentiments. Castiel wasn't one to waste his breath saying anything other than what he believed with all his heart.

"You're not so bad yourself," Dean purred in reply. He slipped his fingers over the front of Cas' pants to ease his zipper down and caress the length of his shaft. Dean pressed their lips together again as he roused Castiel's desire. Heady, Dean murmured, "Downright adorable."

Outside of the library storage room, they were in constant danger of being caught together, but the knowledge of that risk added to their excitement. A part of Dean wanted people to know they belonged to each other. Dean spit into his hand and leaned into Cas to stroke their hard members together. Castiel's hands on his body expressed enthusiasm and desperate need with every pull and touch. Dean sealed away Castiel's utterances of urgency and pleasure with his mouth, feeling an equal amount of lust. They meshed as one and came, concealed in the shadows of the surrounding concrete towers.

Hot from the rush of their contact, Castiel affectionately scratched Dean's cheek with the stubble of his jaw as he continued to hold onto the other man with possessive idolization. He felt Dean smile into his neck before leaving a kiss on his skin. The scrape of Cas' stubble was a very welcome, very prickly reminder to Dean that Castiel was back. Castiel was again close and again his.

In the calm that followed, Dean reached up to drag his fingers through Castiel's hair, glowing with pleasure as he rendered the other man disorderly. "There," he drawled, "Now you look even more like yourself."

"I wasn't aware that I had a look," Castiel said through a small grin.

"Oh, you do," Dean answered. "And it's a good one."

Castiel donned a puzzled, bashful expression and Dean nodded in approval. _Just like that_. Intensely focused on Castiel, Dean placed a kiss on his jaw, his cheek, and his lips. "Downright adorable."

Quickly, Castiel reordered their clothing and left several kisses on Dean's face. The Winchester expected to enjoy another long session of mingling lips and tongues, but Castiel abruptly rushed away, mumbling a few rambling apologies and farewells. "Hey!" Dean whined, "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere."

Dean pursued him. "You're doing a lot of walking for going nowhere."

"I have something to do."

Dean chortled at the suggestion that Castiel could have anything more pressing or important to do than be with him. "Yeah? What's that? A luncheon with FDR? You gotta shine your shoes? Press your tuxedo?"

"No. The President would never stoop to my company," Castiel replied.

"I would. Again." Dean arched his eyebrows and played along in spite of his suspicion that Castiel's straight answer to his teasing was just another method of evasion. Castiel's anxiety heightened the slightest bit, and Dean noticed. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just picked up a…hobby," Castiel said, averting his eyes.

"A secret hobby?"

Castiel stopped walking. He was battling his desire to tell Dean something, but ultimately held fast to his inner resolve to be elusive. "I suppose. You can think of it like that."

"You and your friggin' secrets! I – _mmnn!_ "

Castiel had reached out a hand to firmly cover Dean's mouth. He didn't like to keep secrets from Dean, and there were only a few he felt he needed to hold onto. Cas wouldn't talk about his crime, and now there was something new he felt he had to keep under wraps. The last thing Castiel wanted was for his two secrets to be compared to each other because they were so dissimilar in nature. Cas could sense that his companion's provocative nature had been about to incite him into saying something he would regret. Dean's large, green eyes were wide and searching.

"It's not what you think. I just can't tell you about it," Castiel explained. Irritation flashed upon Dean's face, driving away his initial surprise. Suddenly, Cas felt a slick, warm tongue on his palm. The wetness of Dean's tongue startled him into releasing him.

"Fine, I get it. You've got a hobby that doesn't involve me. I've got a hobby that doesn't involve you too," Dean posed ineffectively. "I don't know what it is yet, but it's a damn good one. You'll see."

Castiel exuded nothing but tenderness as he regarded Dean. "I'm sure it is."

* * *

Time dragged on. Hours felt like days, days felt like weeks, and weeks felt like months. The agonizing crawl of time was emphasized by the reality that there was never anywhere to go and rarely ever anything new at the prison. When Dean's one-year anniversary of being in prison was a day away, he couldn't believe so little time had passed. Five years would have seemed more accurate.

The day before Dean's one-year anniversary of confinement was New Year's Day, a holiday that ordinarily evoked reflection. Dean sat on his bed reminiscing about all the changes he had experienced within that year. Without Cas, most of his time would have seemed unfulfilling. Thankfully, Dean had Cas, and Castiel had made his drawn-out days pass serenely and pleasantly.

Within his first year, in the eyes of others, Dean had graduated from being a gang's punching bag to Castiel's bitch, but neither Cas nor Dean would dare consider their relationship in those terms. They had been compatible since they met and were essential to each other because they were able to keep each other's dark thoughts locked away. Every day together they had been mostly successful at forgetting their lack of self worth. Instead of wallowing in self-pity and disgust, they had cheered each other with smiles, laughs, and idle chatter.

Castiel protected Dean because it was the right thing to do and because he cherished him. In turn, Dean was tethered to Castiel because he was interesting and he regarded Cas with high esteem. They didn't have sex out of any obligation, or as a form of compensation. Their carnal affair was an expression of their mutual admiration and was the best possible distraction in a world with too much free time.

After Castiel had returned from being locked away in the hole, Dean had taken up a hobby that didn't involve Castiel, just as he had promised he would. His chosen diversion had been there all along, waiting to be shaped into something special. Dean's hobby had been born from writing Sam, but his letters to Sam were not his hobby. Writing Sam was his brotherly duty. His leisurely pursuit had originated from all the words he could never have mailed. The truths that had gone untold and had often been quickly destroyed became important to Dean. He could never have mailed these words to Sam because he worried Sam might have become compromised if he had discovered his reality, and nothing was more important to Dean than Sam's physical and mental safety. Yet, Dean hadn't been able to let go of the ideas within those shriveled and discarded pieces of paper.

He had wanted to tell someone what he had experienced and what was on his mind. Cas had been the only person with whom he really confided, and he was invaluable for it, but Dean had wanted to speak to a person on the outside. What killed Dean on a daily basis was that free people were going about their lives without having a clue of how he lived. The differences between the war, civilian life, and prison life were so vast Dean sometimes felt isolated in a separate universe. Dean had become fascinated with the idea of making waves in the world of vacations, families, ice cream parlors, concert halls, parades, and picnics where he no longer belonged. At best, he had hoped to be like Gabriel with Sam's shoes, communicating something to the world to affect positive change.

Speech was one of the only freedoms that he still had, so Dean had taken to accomplishing his goal of enlightening a stranger to the things that were his daily life. He had wanted to address a stranger because all of his old friends were too close to his heart and to his crime. Dean had believed could pretend his anonymous reader was Sam and that he was no longer being disingenuous to his little brother by keeping silent. Most topics had been too painful for Dean to address, so he had begun with something simple, which was the prison food. He had written about how it was often stale or expired, and, at worst, embedded with maggots.

When Dean had sent his first letter out to the world, he had felt how a man stranded on an island might have felt after releasing a message in a bottle out to sea. The action alone had been freeing. Dean would have never expected that his words would land on the editorial column of a local paper, but they had. His accomplishment had endeared Dean to the entirety of the penitentiary because the warden had been furious at the publication that made him look like an incompetent, callous overseer. Zachariah was a constant target of hatred and mockery, so anything that displeased him, delighted the inmates.

Zachariah had been humiliated by a man he considered to be an unruly, uncultured ape. The warden, like so many figures with power, knew how to take any bad situation and turn it into a profit. He had feigned compassion and made a grandstand of his duty as a good Christian man to care for the wayward souls of his prison to the best of his ability, counting himself as one of the victims of the system. There wasn't enough money, he had argued. The only reason Zachariah had not chewed Dean to pieces and barred him from ever writing again was because the warden had known he could apply for more funds thanks to the commotion. He had requested an amount of money that was just under being obscene.

When he had received a little less than what he had requested, the warden had been disgruntled by the stiff regulations requiring him to use almost all of the money to improve the quality of the food. Still, the warden had been crafty enough to work in a fee to pad his salary. Dean had poked the world with a stick and it had resulted in a marvelous change at the prison. The food was still occasionally stale, but never rotten. Finally, the inmates were able to have eggs, on every Sunday.

"So it was you I had to fuck all along," Gabriel had commented the first day the eggs were served. He had been ecstatic and his smile had reflected every bit of his pleasure. "Okay, Dean. What's it gonna be? Handjob or blowjob? Or both? Both! I'm feeling generous."

Dean didn't need either when he had Castiel, but he had remembered Gabriel's own words claiming that nothing was free, so he had taken advantage of the offer and said, "Cigarettes. For Cas. I haven't seen you smoking in months now, buddy. That just don't seem right."

Castiel had been startled by the comment and had looked at Dean with unbridled adoration. He had looked like he was about to say something, but Gabriel spoke first, "Cigarettes it is!"

When they had sat down to eat, Gabriel had noticed Charlie was transfixed on something and he followed his gaze to Death's face. The Day of the Egg, Death had showed more mirth than any of the men at their table had ever witnessed. Gabriel had nudged Dean under the table. "Look, Dean. You made Death smile."

The expression had been bizarre on his face and unexpectedly charming. Wearing that tiny smile, he could have been anyone's sweet old grandfather. Death had savored his hot pile of eggs and said, "Next time you write, ask for pizza."

Dean had already garnered respect from many of his fellow inmates as a Nazi-killer and as a survivor of Alastair's torture. Dean was known as a fighter, and also esteemed as the only man other than Gabriel that could captivate Castiel and earn his loyalty. Now, he had the power of his words to further aggrandize himself.

Dean had intended to put off his writing after inadvertently attaining eggs, but he had been coerced into writing more. The next time Dean had written, he wrote for Gabriel. As it turned out, Gabriel had been sentenced to twelve years for his crime, which meant he would have more life left to live after prison. Dean had always understood him to be a lifer, but exaggerating his sentence had only been another one of Gabriel's dramatics. Being locked away 'for life' was a melodramatic metaphor to Gabe, and it wasn't that funny to Cas and Dean who were almost certainly doomed to die in prison as bitter, old men.

As a principally humorous endeavor, Dean had taken to promoting Gabriel's musical talents on paper because Gabriel would actually have the opportunity to have a real job on the outside someday. With a finely practiced hand, Dean had proclaimed that the greatest voice of their generation was locked away in their very prison. Gabriel had devoured every word, and six different letters had been mailed to different radio stations.

Gabriel had loved the idea of poking the outside world as much as Dean did, but he had still been amazed that Dean would bother saying such complimentary things about him. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why the hell not, that's why," Dean had replied. What he had written were not lies. He thought it was entirely possible that Gabriel could become famous and it would be nice to have a friend that was rich and famous on the outside. More importantly, Gabriel had helped Sam. Helping Sam was something he was no longer able to do so anyone that could automatically earned Dean's favor.

"I'm still on for that blowjob if you are," Gabriel had answered. He had worked his way into Dean's lap, grinning wide. The feeling of Castiel's eyes on him had only made Gabe more forward, "I'm pretty amazing. Probably better than Cas."

" _No_. Cut it out already. C'mon, Gabe!" Dean had brushed Gabriel away like he was a bothersome child. No matter what Gabriel said, Dean could never believe he would seriously want to suck him off. Then again, it was difficult to discern anything that involved the golden-eyed man.

"You've just been so inspiring lately," Gabriel had swooned. "So nice."

"And I'm going to stop, right now. This is the last nice thing I am ever doing."

"That's what makes you so cute, Dean," Gabriel had responded.

"I'm not cute! I'm not nice!" Flustered, Dean had turned to Cas, begging for support. "Cas, tell him how not nice I am."

"He beats me," Castiel had confessed, completely straight-faced. Not expecting that reply, Dean had somehow managed to choke on air, while Gabriel had been reduced into a fit of hysterics.

Dean's pro-Gabriel publicity letters had all been ignored, save one. A single radio station had a sense of humor and a deep, sympathetic streak. The station had responded with a gift. The day the box had been delivered, every man of the penitentiary had been captivated and had burned with curiosity. Edgar had been the guard to open the gift and he had been the person to deliver the contents of the box to the population.

"So, yeah, this is for you. All of you. It's got a letter that says, 'keep singing, guys' and some other stuff. Well, you just read it." Edgar hadn't cared to read the entire letter out loud, so he handed it to Gabriel who had absorbed the brilliant response and passed it to the other men when he had finished reading. The correspondence had suggested that at least one of the employees at the station had served time. Edgar had handed the long, large box over to Gabriel as well, and, when he opened it, the heavens may as well have parted.

Sitting in the box had been a shiny new guitar that just about brought tears to Gabriel's eyes.

"We don't have any rules set up about the guitar yet. You all will probably be able to use it during rec time. You can hang on to it for now. Just don't break it," Edgar had explained. Edgar really wouldn't have given a damn if the guitar had been smashed to bits and he had taken his leave without delay.

"Don't break it, he says. I'd rather break my own hand," Gabriel had sighed. He had taken it upon himself to tune the instrument and then he had filled the yard with elegant strumming. It was like riding a bicycle, Gabriel had said. After so many years, he had never forgotten how to play. The music of the guitar was a strange and glorious addition to the prison. Gabriel played exotic tunes nobody had ever heard and folksy favorites that reminded men of home. From then on, Gabriel made it his goal to teach Dean how to play. Dean didn't particularly want to learn, but Gabriel had insisted.

Lighting up a cigarette, Castiel would watch every one of Dean's lessons with amusement. He loved the way Dean cursed and protested almost everything Gabriel suggested. He marveled at how Dean improved without seeming to understand how much he was improving. Dean whined like a petulant boy, but he never gave up.

During a particularly troublesome lesson, Dean had stopped to complain, "This is stupid, Gabe. You're the musician, not me!"

"The only thing that's gonna be stupid around here is _you_ if you keep holding Mary like that," Gabriel had hissed. He had named the guitar Mary after Dean's mother and half of his cousins. "We're going to have a band. You and me. I'll be the singer, you'll be the eye candy guitar player, and we will make so much moolah. Megabucks, I tell you. Cas'll count the money. Broads will be lining around the block to throw their naked bodies at us and we will never look back."

"You forget I'm no good at this and that your fantasy prison break scenario is just a friggin' fantasy." Gabriel had a theory that there would be a prison break. He believed with all his heart that the Mob would come to free Death and that they would all be able to slip out during the violent commotion.

"Shh, Dean. Work with me."

Wearing a scowl, Dean had pointed at the instrument. "This guitar is not my friend. Mary doesn't like me."

"Have a little faith. If you can take apart a car and put it back together again, you can learn how to play the guitar. The love of objects, Dean, you've got it," Gabriel had proclaimed. "What can be done with bits of wood and string; it resonates with you."

Gabriel hadn't been wrong. Dean enjoyed any moment when he could keep his hands busy. He never mastered the kinds of intricate, rapid riffs that came to Gabriel naturally, but Dean had succeeded in learning gentle, soothing ballads. The fact that Castiel loved to hear him play had been at least half of the reason why Dean bothered at all.

The year of 1944 had an end that could not be more disparate from its beginning. In the place of constant torture, solitude, and misery, Dean had friends and had developed a new set of skills. Dean's writing had been a great diversion that had led to an even greater love for the guitar. As isolated as he was from the world, Dean could not deny that the hellhole of prison also had some bright spots. Strangely, Cas and Gabe felt like the friends he was always supposed to have met. They were a new family that existed only because of homicide.

New Year's Day initiated while he was behind bars, during lights out. Dean would have forgotten what day it was if not for the singing that broke out at around midnight. A butchered variation of 'Auld Lang Syne' broke into the void in a surreal moment. Cries of 'Happy New Year' and shouts about the start of 1945 were also heard.

"1945…" Dean whispered to himself. As others continued to holler and howl, Dean imagined his perfect New Year's party.

Closing his eyes, he saw his house, lit up in reds and yellows. Outside, there were fireworks exactly like the kind he had nicked as a boy with Sam one Fourth of July. Cocktails, spirits, and beer were abundant and not a single hand in his household was without one or the other. Dean had barbequed mountains of meat for all his guests and Lisa had baked four different kinds of pies. She was alive and well because, in his vision, nobody had ever killed or been killed.

Sam wasn't at war. He was dancing with Jess in the parlor, unaware of anything other than her brilliant eyes and dazzling beauty. Balthazar sat beside Kevin at the fire, across from Charlie and Gabriel. All four men were drunk senseless. Bobby was timidly trying to charm Ellen, and Jo was having an animated conversation with Garth and Ash. In Dean's dream, his tumbler of whiskey was always full and Castiel was always right by his side. Lisa was too busy entertaining a laughing Ben to care that Dean kissed Castiel when the clock struck twelve. There wasn't a shred of pain, fear, jealousy, or guilt in this invented world.

* * *

Dean's late night fantasy must have translated into positive thoughts in his consciousness because he woke up feeling that there would be something special about 1945. Many other men had the same feeling. Death was certain the war would end and Gabriel secretly held onto the belief that Sam would return unharmed. They had only been requested to pray for Sam once, but Gabriel and Castiel had both been praying for him ever since Dean asked. Sam was always present, even if he was never seen.

The newsreels announcing the retreat of the Germans after their failed offensive of the Battle of the Bulge reaffirmed their optimism. January of 1945 was also a successful month for the Soviets that liberated parts of Europe, including what was left of Warsaw. Dean was always in higher spirits when Germans were being thrashed. The news was so positive that a small part of his heart opened up to the same hopes Gabriel had of Sam coming back home.

During the middle of January of that year, Dean was generally cheerful. He was also sufficiently confident in his new musical skills to test Gabriel's theory that there was a correlation with playing an instrument and getting laid. Dean had learned a fairly short, romantic song in secret while Castiel had been doing whatever his mysterious hobby was. Gabriel had encouraged Dean, claiming that a serenade was the kind of thing that was romantic and ought to be done. In Gabriel's head, it wasn't right for a man to play the guitar so well without ever getting laid for it. Dean played well enough, and Castiel had been born to be their test subject.

One day at work, Dean disappeared and returned with the prized guitar. He got on a knee and began to play and sing 'I'll Be Seeing You' for a very unsuspecting Castiel. In shock, Castiel blinked and stumbled around a chair, dropping everything he had been doing while the library reverberated with Dean's tender strums and the warm notes of his song. Castiel had heard Dean play many times, but never sing. He was astonished by the quality of his voice and enamored by the way he preformed, completely aware of how he might be embarrassing himself. Dean didn't sing like he was copying someone else. He sang with emotion, like he meant every sweet word that came from his mouth. For about three minutes, Castiel was wide-eyed and completely flushed. All of a sudden, the library felt like a sauna. It was so unreal to think that Dean would go to such lengths to please him that Castiel half-imagined he was only experiencing a hallucination.

Dean could sing, and he was singing for Cas. In his song, he professed a kind of love sickness that reminded Cas of all the times Dean had spoken openly about how they could be free together someday. He remembered all the moments when Dean had declared he would choose to take him as a lover, even on the outside. He remembered all the places Dean had promised he would take him and all the things he had promised they would do.

The last note hung in the air, bewitching the moment in time. Thanks to all of his practice, Dean hadn't made a single mistake and it was clear he felt impressed with himself. He knew his voice wasn't as good as Gabriel's, but he had made up for it by being deliberately charismatic in his facial expressions and sincere in the way he sang the lyrics. "Well…" Dean said, "What do you think? Was that good? Or…"

_Stupid._

Having never done something so silly for another person, Dean faltered in the courage to continue flirting and his fingers stiffened around the guitar. Dean, who was often misanthropic and pessimistic, had never felt quite so bare and so concerned about the opinion of another person. Castiel was staring at him with such intensity that he cast his eyes away timidly.

Dean couldn't have been more lovable if he tried, but Castiel didn't have any words with which to respond. Seconds after asking Castiel's opinion, Dean was dragged into the storage room where Castiel articulated his appreciation with his lips and tongue. Cas passionately adored the mouth that was so beautiful in an entirely new way. Dean responded to his kisses with eagerness and the guitar clattered to the ground as Castiel lowered his mouth down Dean's body. The result of his playful test painted an enormous grin on Dean's face.

It seemed like ages ago that Dean had first wordlessly pressed Castiel against the library walls to convey his passion. Now, Castiel had Dean pressed against the door of the storage room to silently express the fierce, irrepressible need he had for Dean. To Castiel's ears, Dean's soft cries filling the small room were as delectable as the sounds of his singing. Dean climaxed in Castiel's mouth, but it was the look of satisfaction on Castiel's face that stilled Dean's heart and made him let out a ragged sigh.

"Guitars…good," Dean muttered dumbly. He rapidly descended to pull Castiel into his arms and give his dirty mouth a deep kiss. Dean pushed Cas into the hard floor where he was quick to stroke the other man's erection. Castiel writhed and moaned beneath Dean and their lips never once parted.

* * *

Dean's second birthday in the pen passed in a manner vastly differently than the first. Exactly one year ago, Dean remembered having felt sore, alone, and broken. This year, he had friends. Unbeknownst to Dean, Castiel also had a present for him. Dean didn't expect much of anything at all when January twenty-fourth came and he was happy to settle for being alive and unharmed.

"I can't believe I'm twenty-six. I never would have imagined I'd make it this far," Dean mumbled at the breakfast table, mostly to himself. More than once, for various different reasons, Dean had expected he would be dead well before this anniversary of his birth. He was astonished that he had survived his childhood, and that may have been the easiest part of his life. His next statement surprised every man at the table. "I feel so old."

Gabriel threw his knife at Dean and the blunt end smacked into his war-torn shoulder. "You be quiet, you whippersnapper."

"Ow!"

"You are the baby at this table," Charlie deadpanned. "If you think you're old that makes us grandpas."

"I still can't believe I'm younger than you," Dean replied to Charlie, who was soon to be thirty. "You look fourteen."

"And you act fourteen," Death commented to Dean.

"Do not!" Dean recoiled. "Hey, it is my freakin' birthday, for cryin' out loud. Why's everybody gotta be like this? Cas, he threw a knife at me! On my _birthday_."

"It wasn't sharp," Castiel replied dismissively.

Dean knew there wasn't going to be any cake, pie, or alcohol to mark this day and he was fine with that. He did know that, at some point, he would be getting sex, but he wasn't sure when. Dean stuck unusually close to Cas that day, anxiously waiting the moment when the other man would drop everything to fuck him.

As they worked in the library and Dean remained frustratingly unsatisfied, he struck up a conversation with Castiel. "Cas? Does it bother you, not knowing when your birthday is?"

"Not really. It doesn't make much of a difference, does it?"

"How old do you suppose you are?"

Castiel shrugged. "Older than you."

"How much older?"

"You're making me uncomfortable, Dean," Castiel answered. Every now and then Cas was afraid he was old enough to be Dean's father. He didn't think he was, but he felt perverse nonetheless for enjoying having a sexual relationship with the younger man so much. Dean knew Castiel well enough to perceive the nature of his discomfort.

"Yeah right, you prude. It's not like I call you 'Daddy' while we're doin' it." Dean draped his body over Castiel's shoulders. Channeling his inner floozy, Dean whispered into his ear. "I always could, Big Daddy."

"T-Ten years. Tops. I don't think I'm more than ten years older than you," Castiel rambled hopefully because he didn't feel comfortable with the thought that their age gap could be larger than that. "I don't really care when my birthday is. Gabriel thinks I'm a Gemini because I'm 'intellectually inclined' and I more or less accept that. We picked out a date for my birthday, but I forgot what it was. June-something. We never really kept to it."

"Gemini, you think? I'm an Aquarius."

Cas cast his eyes up to Dean. "What does that mean?"

"I dunno." What was more important to Dean was all the sex they should have been having in that moment. Castiel didn't pick up on any of his hints. To make matters worse, the library was especially busy that day. Several people came in just to wish Dean a happy birthday, including Crazy Martin who gave Dean a couple of cigarettes.

Dean decided he wouldn't lift a finger to work that day. He sat on one of the tables, smoking and pondering Cas. _June-something_. He wondered if there was anything he could get Cas in time for his invented birthday. Dean would most likely consult with Gabriel on the subject later.

Charlie visited and offered Dean something beautiful and unexpected. The redhead winked as he set his gift into Dean's palm. "Happy birthday, baby."

"Cufflinks?" Dean gawked at the golden cufflinks that were embellished with three leaf clovers bordered by green enamel. They were the types of cufflinks that would have been in style ten or more years ago. Charlie had polished them to the point that they were pristine.

"Yeah. I was gonna keep them, but I found them today while fixing one of the laundry machines and I thought, 'It's Dean's birthday. He should have these.'"

"Thanks, Charlie." Dean grinned and put the cufflinks on. They both laughed at how absurd it was to dress up their nondescript attire with such fine objects. "I never thought I'd get anything that was worth something. It's nice."

"I find things all the time," Charlie whispered in a conspiring tone. He had his own stash of all sorts of odds and ends that had been lost. Anything of value must have belonged to the guards and Charlie had no desire to do any favors for them by returning their goods. Every now and then, Charlie didn't wait for the guards to lose their belongings – he just took them. Charlie had stolen from Zachariah about three times already and the warden was none the wiser.

"You are something else," Dean praised him and Charlie left to go back to work.

Later that afternoon, Gabriel gave Dean some more cigarettes. "Don't smoke 'em all at once, birthday boy."

Strangely, even Uriel gave Dean a present that day. The guard slipped the smallest piece of chocolate into Dean's hands as he left the mess hall after dinner. Uriel wished him a happy birthday, but then added that he hated chocolate and if Dean told anyone he'd given him chocolate, he would break his kneecaps. Uriel was bizarre enough to laugh at the thought of brutality, causing Dean to wander away from him confused, and a little afraid.

Dean sucked on the ball of chocolate all the way back to his cell, trying his hardest not to let it dissolve too quickly in his mouth. It was so delicious that he forgave Uriel for his threats. He sank into bed, high on nicotine and chocolate, thinking he would have to jack himself off that night. Dean was resting on his back with his eyes closed when Castiel appeared at his cell door. The sun was just beginning to set.

Castiel's form obscured the fading light enough that Dean pried one eye open. _Thank God._ Dean was overjoyed to see him without knowing what Castiel had to offer him, or if he had anything at all. "You're not gonna stand there and watch me sleep again, are you? 'Cause I already told you that gives me the creeps."

"No." Castiel shook his head. He entered Dean's cell and settled himself on his bed in that manner of his that suggested that such a thing as 'personal space' did not exist between them. "I brought you something," he said.

"Yeah?" Dean grinned. He sat up and neared Castiel. "Is it pie?"

"Close your eyes and you'll find out."

Dean bristled with amusement because he was having intense déjà vu of a happy memory. He was now almost certain he was about to get pie, which was something worth closing his eyes for. Unlike the first time Castiel had made the odd request, Dean obeyed. He put out his hand and Castiel grabbed it. What was placed into his palm was certainly _not_ pie. It didn't feel like anything edible at all. The object was solid, sleek, and pliable in his grip.

"This isn't pie. If I didn't know better, I'd say this is toothpaste. Cas, so help me if you got me toothpaste as a present." Dean cracked his eyes open and beheld the object. He knew what it was instantly and it wasn't toothpaste. "Are you fucking kidding me? This is – this is lubricant!"

"For sex," Castiel clarified, thinking Dean would feel comfort and would be delighted by the admission. Dean loved sex, which was why Castiel had gone to considerable lengths to procure the lubricant. He'd bartered all his cigarettes and done a multitude of chores for months, just so they could have comfortable sex because he would rather not penetrate Dean at all if it would hurt him.

Dean was flabbergasted. In an awkward moment of misunderstanding, they spoke at almost the same time.

"You want me to – "

"No, Dean, I was going to – "

"Sorry?" Dean knit his brows together in a frown that Castiel perceived as being both incredulous and affronted. "Cas, you mean to say that you're offering to fuck me in the ass… _on my birthday?_ "

Suddenly, Castiel was terrified that he'd made a grievous error. He may have disappeared and kept secrets from Dean for months on end for something Dean didn't even want. Disappointment was clear all over his serious features as Cas spoke. "Well, when we last talked about it I thought we had decided that since I have the most experience, and since I know what I'm doing…"

Dean brought his palm to his face in exasperation. "You are some odd ball."

Castiel froze. He didn't know the first thing about giving presents and there wasn't much he could give that would be of use. Pie had been his second idea, but he figured the lubricant would provide for longer lasting enjoyment. After a few moments in which Castiel suffered feelings of mortification, Dean stunned him.

"Okay," he said simply. His casual word of consent drew Castiel's immediate attention.

"Yes?" Cas stammered, "You're okay with it?"

Dean shrugged and then nodded without giving further explanation. In the next instant, Castiel found Dean inches from his lips, ready to touch and be touched. "You want to do it here, on the bed?"

"I thought that would be best," Castiel replied softly.

They had never had sex in a bed. Almost all of their rendezvous happened in the dusty, concealed areas of the library or in the most hidden outdoor alcoves they had been able to find. All of those places felt more private than Dean's cell. Their cells were constructed to be observable, but Dean had been craving Cas all day, so he coaxed Castiel near and positioned himself into his lap. Regardless of who could be watching, he brought their lips together. "I've been wanting to fuck you in a bed," Dean admitted in a hushed tone, "Like a civilized person."

Castiel's arms encircled Dean's waist and he responded to each one of his kisses with ardor. Castiel had the same desires. He had the same yearning to sleep with Dean in a bed and to be able to look at him the first thing in the morning. There was no concealed place on the bed of Dean's cell, but neither man cared that night. "I'll be careful," Castiel promised.

Dean was still holding the lubricant in his hand as he kissed Cas and rolled their hips together. Castiel was atypically easily aroused because Dean had been teasing him all day and he had been wanting to drive into Dean since almost the first moment their bodies had ever joined.

"You taste like chocolate," Castiel remarked, unsure if he was imagining the sweetness on his tongue. "Cigarettes and chocolate."

"Mmhm," Dean murmured and continued to meld their mouths together. He would explain the chocolate later when he wasn't so wholly focused on being had by Castiel. A cufflink made a clink as it collided to the floor. "How you gonna do this?"

"I'll suck you off while I finger you," Castiel huffed, impatient to remove Dean's clothing. He tore at the buttons of Dean's shirt to uncover more of his skin. "With slick fingers. I'll go slow, starting with one finger. I'll do it as long as you need. You have to be relaxed and open. Plenty slick."

Castiel kissed Dean while he spoke and his mouth soon found purchase over his chest. Dean knew Castiel didn't mean his words to be anything other than informative, but the Winchester was becoming hard. Castiel's hand massaged the growing bulge in his pants as he elaborated. "If you like it, I'll penetrate you. If you don't, just tell me and I'll stop."

"Get blowing," Dean demanded and Castiel didn't waste any time. Dean's other cufflink fell to the floor along with his shirt, and his pants and every other inch of clothing on his body immediately followed. Castiel was naked and on top of Dean tracing every one of his muscles with his mouth as he pumped Dean's cock at a torturous pace. The tube of lubricant was already slightly warm from being in Dean's hand, but Castiel made an effort to warm it up more. Their complete nakedness was another anomaly and an uncommon intimacy for them. Usually, they were partially or fully clothed when they were together.

Castiel's tongue was diligent in caressing the length of Dean's shaft as he prepared the lubricant. Cas knew Dean's sensitive spots and was meticulous in teasing all of them before swallowing his length into his mouth to give Dean attentive sucks. A shiver of pleasure prickled from Dean's head to his toes and he cursed in soft tones.

Dean expected to feel Castiel's fingers long before Cas touched him. When he first felt a slick digit, it wasn't invasive at all. Castiel simply trailed circles into his skin in gentle motions, never faltering in his avid sucks. Dean thought he could tolerate anything with Castiel's mouth upon him, which was the intended point.

"Fuck, Cas." Dean panted, and moved his hips to beckon his friend. He was a little afraid and unsure of what to expect, but Dean also wasn't eager to wait. Only Castiel could make him want something he would kill another man for. The first digit entered his body with almost no resistance. It was strange, but not painful. Castiel felt Dean stiffen, but he promptly urged Cas on with the heel of his foot so Cas continued to explore Dean with care. A particularly strong, sensitive ache roused by Castiel's mouth elicited a series of moans from Dean. Dean was thankful for the bed and the pillow at his head because he had soft things to paw and claw into during Castiel's ministrations.

Castiel had purposely pushed Dean into the bed so Dean would be on his back, facing the wall and not the opening of his cell. As Cas expected, a stranger passed and debated whether or not he should watch. The inmate was engrossed by the union of Dean and Cas, but Castiel's sudden, sharp, and murderous glare scared him off. Dean caught a glimpse of Castiel's glare and mistook it for passion. Dean was so close to coming that the steel of Cas' eyes and the gentlest curl of Castiel's finger sent him over the edge. As Dean trembled through his climax, Cas teased him with a second finger, stroking Dean inquisitively from the inside.

Cas swallowed the come in his mouth and sucked the sensitive skin between Dean's legs. All the while, he prodded Dean, determined to find the most responsive inch of him. When his fingers brushed against it, Dean let out a quiet cry and moved his arm to cover his face. "The fuck was that?"

Castiel heard Dean's unspoken pleas to repeat the touch and he did, delivering another exciting shock. Castiel gave Dean's skin a loving bite because he was barely able to control himself while Dean was making sounds he'd never heard before. Dean clutched at the sheets, a slight sheen of sweat covering his body, while Cas fingered him thoroughly. Castiel climbed over his body, dragging his teeth and tongue up Dean as he quickened the strokes of his fingers. Cas lavished a hard nipple with his tongue, reveling in the way Dean squirmed and begged for him with the whole of his being.

"Fucking fuck!" Dean cried. Dean's graceless cry had been prompted by the strange, remarkable sensations Castiel was provoking within him and it was followed by the addition of another cruel finger. Dean bit his lip and arched his body into Castiel. Castiel pulled on Dean's lip with his teeth, afraid Dean would bite himself too hard from his excitement. Dean flung his arms around Cas' shoulders and gave him sloppy kisses back.

"Fuck you, Dean. So hard..." Castiel's muttered half-sentences were met with even less coherent strings of words from Dean. The tiny, rational part of Dean's mind wanted to know what happened to 'gentle,' but the rest of Dean loudly wanted 'hard.'

In a moment of clarity, Dean growled, "Fuck me, you son of a bitch."

Castiel was aching with too much desire to resist such an urgent command. With clumsy fingers, he covered his sore cock in lubricant. Cas spread Dean and thrust within him as carefully as he could manage. Painful and straining as it was, Dean encouraged Cas with his hips and feverish kisses. Dean was hot and incredible to the point that Castiel could no longer restrain himself. He drove into Dean, pinning him to the bed as he had dreamed of doing for so long.

Fingers dragged through Castiel's hair and Dean muffled his whimpers into Castiel's skin. It felt right to be penetrated by Cas and he was so well lubricated that Dean wasn't uncomfortable. Again, Castiel nudged his hypersensitive inner nerves in a way that sent a scream of joy into every particle of his flesh. The sharp moan he let out was maddeningly provocative. Dean never would have imagined he could have felt such a thing.

If any other inmate passed by the cell, Castiel was too absorbed in Dean to notice. He fucked Dean into the mattress with energy, caring only to feel more of the heat between them. Cas burned a messy trail over Dean's skin with his mouth and wavered from the intensity of feeling that was evoked in his body from their friction. Dean hiked his legs around Castiel's waist and grasped onto Cas as though nothing else in the world could ever be so important.

Castiel displayed a startling amount of stamina that made the night seem blissfully endless. The realization that he was becoming hard yet again overwhelmed Dean. Castiel flipped Dean onto his stomach abruptly and continued to pound into his body with rough thrusts. Dean lost all of his senses when Castiel simultaneously slammed him into the bed and stroked his newly erect member. Dean came again while clutching the rails of his bed. By the time Castiel came inside of his body, Dean was a twingeing, unintelligible mass of awe. He gasped and made a low, drawn-out sound when Castiel removed his spent organ from his body.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Castiel breathed an apology, fearing he had hurt Dean, before collapsing next to the other man. Neither Dean nor Cas had any vigor left to move at all. They rested on their stomachs, panting, with their faces turned toward each other. Bitten, twisted, and sweat-drenched, the only pillow on the bed supported Dean's cheek and the edge of Castiel's face. Dean gazed at Castiel like he was something from another world. Dean was seeing him with fresh eyes.

Finally, Castiel mumbled a sluggish question, "You okay?"

Dean nodded, but he wasn't sure if he was being honest. The adrenaline and endorphins dancing throughout his system prevented Dean from feeling the flares of pain that he knew were coming. Castiel had been rougher than he most likely intended, but Dean liked it. Any sexual experience that resulted in him coming more than once had to be counted as truly remarkable. "I'm good," Dean said, once he was able to speak. "That was incredible."

Cas smirked and willed himself nearer to Dean. Sharing the sullied pillow, Castiel tangled his limbs with Dean's and pressed their lips together. He kept Dean flush against his chest and rested his chin to Dean's forehead. Interlaced in a warm embrace, both men drifted off to sleep.

After about fifteen minutes, Castiel awoke. Instead of the panic he should have felt from worrying that he was off schedule and going to miss the nightly count, he felt only calm. Dean was still asleep in his arms, wearing an expression of absolute tranquility on his perfect face. Cas had never slept beside Dean – with Dean – for any length of time. The blue-eyed male tried to memorize every detail of this moment for the future, when he would invariably be left alone in his cell. He could still taste Dean's essence on his tongue. He could still hear his beautiful cries.

Castiel intended to leave a single kiss on his lips before moving to get dressed, but his first kiss incited many successive kisses. Under such loving gestures, Dean awoke and began to respond to Castiel's lips happily. They didn't know what time it was, but, if the light of the moon was any indication, they knew they would have to part soon.

The second Cas made a move away from Dean, the Winchester pulled him back to his body and kissed him deeply. Everything between them now was warm and perfect. To disturb the bond they had forged would be cruel. "Cas, stay."

"I can't."

"Stay anyway," Dean begged, gripping Castiel's wrist firmly. Dean had a penchant for asking for the impossible and Castiel would normally obey any command he was given, but this was not one he could follow. For bothering to ask at all, Castiel gave Dean a long, passionate kiss.

"I would give anything to be able to sleep here with you," Castiel whispered in a way that caused Dean to feel a powerful stir in his chest.

"Yeah, you would." Dean flicked his tongue against Cas' lower lip and said, "So do it."

Stunned by the heat of Dean, Cas took a pause to contemplate his desires. "Should I take a beating for you?"

If he tried to stay, a beating would surely occur. Dean knew Castiel was capable of all manner of outrageous things, but his words, spoken so seriously, made Dean change his mind reluctantly. "No," he said.

There wasn't a bribe big enough to grant their wish of being able to sleep together. They could only have what little they could afford and what they were willing to risk. Castiel lingered, but then forced himself away from Dean to stumble around, looking for his clothes. Castiel had a phenomenal body that Dean watched with lust and longing as he gathered his garments. Less than a handful of hours remained of Dean's birthday. "Hey."

Castiel turned to Dean, just as he had finished putting on his shirt. The hesitation Dean took before saying anything else made it evident that there were many things Dean might have wished to tell Castiel.

"We should do that again," Dean said.

Castiel slipped into his pants and bent over Dean to kiss him until Dean was intoxicated with love. "We will. Good night, Dean."

"Night." Dean sighed.

In a daze, Castiel exercised great will to saunter back to his cell. The void left by Castiel was bitterly cold, as was to be expected. Fortunately, Dean was in such ecstasy from their night together that he tolerated it well. When the time for the nightly count came, Dean groaned and put on underwear to be counted in the long procession of men at the prison. He was the only man so scantily clad and obviously ravished, but he did not care.

Andréal started to ask Dean where his clothes were, but thought better of it after seeing the state of his sheets and the way his garments had been flung around the room. Despite his current aggravation, Dean was shining in a manner that made the guard quicken his steps away from his chambers. Dean fell back into his defiled sheets and the bars of his cell sealed him away from Cas as they always did.

Castiel was dressed, but similarly unhappy, when the guards counted his segment of the jailhouse. He felt the slightest surge of violence boil within his body from the knowledge that the male in uniform before him had the keys to get to Dean. It wasn't fair that they should be apart. Cas did his best to suppress his feelings of contempt, but it was hard when he wanted only to hold Dean through the night. The ice of his eyes and the rigid anger in his face unnerved the guard that passed him by. Cas settled into bed, wondering if it was possible that Dean would be the death of him. Castiel would prefer such a death to any other, and he no longer believed he had any limits when it came to Dean.

Cas couldn't sleep. He remained on his back, staring at his Spartan cell walls. When something cold pressed into his wrist, he looked down to see a golden cloverleaf cufflink on his sleeve that didn't belong on any of his shirts. The item gleaming in the dark caused the brightest smile to blossom on his face. Castiel would be sleeping with a piece of Dean after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas become inseparable after their blessed night together. Reliving the past, Dean is haunted by Lisa and Cas reveals a part of his dark history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the weirdest fanfic I may have ever written. Like, I don't understand why, but sometimes it creeps me out and makes me hella depressed, lmao. Every chapter gets longer than the last. Holy frijoles, this is one fucking long chapter. I really hope you all don't mind insanely long chapters. I am enjoying writing this and so grateful that you all are reading! I'm amazed! Really! Thank you, and I hope you like this installment. :)

* * *

The chill of the winter night was no impediment to Dean's ability to fall asleep. After bundling up in every stitch of clothing he owned, he wrapped himself in his sheets and fell into an instant, coma-like slumber. What posed a challenge was removing himself from his bed the next morning.

"Dean Winchester," called one of the guards at five past six in the morning. He met with total silence. Tapping his pencil once to his clipboard, he spoke again. "Dean Winchester."

The heap on the bed that was Dean didn't stir and the man in the uniform standing outside of his cell lost his patience. The crash of his nightstick upon the thick metal bars of Dean's cell emitted a loud, ringing noise that caused several nearby inmates to cringe. Dean, like every other prisoner, hated that sound with a passion, but he barely moved upon hearing it. "Hey! Five twenty-nine twenty-nine!" The guard shouted. "Rise and shine!"

Five twenty-nine twenty-nine moaned and curled more snugly into his pillow and sex-scented sheets. "I'm sick," Dean groaned. "Sleepy."

 _Cas_.

Dean thought of last night and whispered his friend's name so softly into his pillow that it went unheard. If he had to wake, he wished Cas could be the person to wake him instead. When he imagined all the possible ways Castiel might choose to wake him, Dean made a low sound of pleasure.

"Sick, my ass," The guard answered. He passed his clipboard over to Edgar so the morning count could proceed on schedule while he dealt with Dean.

"Unbelievable," the guard grumbled. To rouse Dean, the guard had to prod him with his nightstick and then physically drag him to his feet. When Dean heard the guard mutter complaints, he begged to be left alone to sleep, but the guard was insistent. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. This ain't no day spa."

"Get yer mitts off me," Dean hissed as he struggled in the other man's arms, "At least take me out to dinner first."

Thankfully, guards were more lenient with prisoners that had difficulties leaving their cells in the mornings than they were with prisoners that were late to return to their cells at the appropriate times. Dean had no prior morning violations, so he was let off easy once he was on his feet. The Winchester was the last man to the showers and the last man to the mess hall.

His permanent seat in front of Gabriel had been waiting for him. That space on the bench was the niche he had carved for himself in a world where he never would have thought he could belong. Habitually, they all took the same spots each day to the point that the hundreds of breakfasts they had shared together were practically indistinguishable from each other. If not for Gabriel's new magnificent beard, Dean could have easily mistaken this day for any day months ago.

Gabriel had taken to growing a beard early in January just so something would be different. The condition of his facial hair was one of the few things in his life that the musician could still control. With his well-groomed beard, Gabe was dashing and appeared more mature. Yet, Dean had already begun to become used to it as well. The most striking change at breakfast that morning had nothing to do with their physical appearances. Dean sat down in his familiar spot and received several inquisitive glances from his companions.

"Mornin' princess," Gabriel said around a mouthful of partially chewed biscuit. Dean responded with a low groan and Charlie had to stifle a laugh with his palm. In a fog of sleepiness, Dean's eyes gradually found their way to Castiel, who returned the gaze when he could no longer pretend to be so completely fascinated by his porridge. Whatever thoughts they shared in that instant went unspoken.

Beginning with the day he had first persuaded Cas to visit Dean at his cell, Gabriel had always encouraged their friendship along. But, if he had been told then that he would soon be watching them so silently enchanted with each other, Gabe would not have believed it. His plotting had worked a little too well. Now, he had the urge to shout something at the pair because they were so obvious in their quiet worship of each other, but he resisted.

Neither Dean nor Castiel made any comments to suggest they'd spent a perfect night together. When Dean frowned and spoke, he posed the most ordinary question to Gabe and Charlie, "What day is it?"

"Thursday," Charlie replied. He hadn't been able to wipe off his grin since Dean had joined them at the table. Dean was in the most profound sex stupor he'd seen in a long while. Charlie had learned about Castiel's plans through Gabriel and he knew exactly what had happened without needing to have it spelled out to him.

Because he could, Gabriel had set up the most absurd requirements for Castiel to obtain the personal lubricant just to see how far Cas would go to get it. Gabriel had acted like getting him lubricant was the equivalent of breaking into Fort Knox with nothing but a trowel and a bucket of moxie. Castiel almost certainly knew better, but he had worked for Gabriel tirelessly without question, and Gabriel was confident he could have made him work more.

With a fierce craving for eggs, Dean sighed, "It should be Sunday."

"You're preachin' to the choir, amigo. Every day should be Sunday," Gabriel responded and then was taken aback by a subtle detail change about Dean. " _No me digas_ , are you wearing Castiel's shirt?"

"What? No," Dean answered, befuddled. He inspected his shirt and stiffened when he noticed a patched-up tear he'd never seen on one of his own shirts. He wasn't so much embarrassed as he was stunned. He'd spent the night in Castiel's shirt without knowing it.

"Well, he's wearing yours." Gabriel quirked his head to the side and pointed to the cufflink Cas was still wearing on his sleeve. "This isn't his, and five twenty-nine twenty-nine is _your_ number."

They seldom spoke of their prisoner identification numbers because their numbers made them feel like objects. Every man had one stitched upon a small white square on his left shirt pocket. Gabriel was 87425, Charlie was 18336, and Death was 33284. "You're wearing Cas' number," Gabriel said, "Two-six-four-three-five."

Dean blinked. "So?"

"So, it doesn't belong on you." Gabriel wore the expression of a man who had just seen the stars suddenly shift in their positions. "It's not a lucky number if you're wearing it."

Dean ignored Gabriel to lean over the table to touch Castiel's sleeve, letting his fingers graze the bones of his pale wrist as he retrieved his golden cufflink. "Give me that..." Dean muttered to Cas without an ounce of believable malice. "You thieving rat. That's my birthday present."

Cas restrained a smile as Dean placed the golden object in his pocket. The area of his skin that Dean had touched tingled. Cas, who was generally more of a listener in the mornings, was even more quiet than usual. The slightest touch from Dean had sent him to cloud nine, and he didn't trust that his tongue could produce any words that would not be embarrassing. Death, Charlie, and Gabriel were all at the same table, but they were like the ocean surrounding the island of Dean and Cas. Gabriel and Charlie argued about the importance of their numbers while Cas and Dean continued to give each other loving, serene glances between sips of coffee and mouthfuls of biscuits and gruel.

"And what do you mean a lucky number? None of our numbers are lucky!" Charlie cried to Gabriel. The redhead had hated his number the instant he had seen it, but he probably would have hated any number that had been branded upon him. Numbers were for cattle.

"If you add Cas' number and mine together… you get eleven thirty-eight sixty," Gabriel remarked in wonder, but Charlie wasn't catching on. "It's got poetry to it. I'm planning to use it for gambling and as my lotto number when we get out of this joint. But, it's only lucky because half of it belongs to Cas."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean eyed Gabriel, thinking he was losing his mind again. Dean remembered how a few days ago Gabriel had experienced a small meltdown and claimed that his beard was the only thing keeping the universe continuing.

"It's what you call 'destiny,'" Gabriel explained. "The numbers are all random, but the man wearin' it isn't. We all had to be in the exact right place at the exact right time over and over and over again to get these exact digits, and that makes them more than a mess of scrambled numbers. Cas and I are pals so that's got to mean our numbers were meant to be together. Eleven thirty-eight sixty. It even _sounds_ lucky."

Dean exhaled noisily and looked up at the ceiling. "You're a loon, Gabe. There's no such thing as destiny."

"Oh, yeah? Is that what you think? Dean, if even one thing in your life had been different – something big, like your Daddy falling for someone that wasn't your mom, or something small, like you working late instead of getting home on time – if any one of those things had been different, you wouldn't be sitting in front of me wearing the wrong number."

"C'mon, destiny is just a thing that was invented to sell little brown books to schoolgirls and housewives," Dean replied. He was speaking to Gabriel, but his eyes kept focusing back on Castiel, who was unmistakably amused by what Dean had just said. Unknown to the other men at the table, Dean and Cas had once spent a day reading out loud from one such brown book. Dean had never heard Castiel laugh more than he had the day he had recited the tale of the young maiden who was saved by an Arab sheikh and carried away on his galloping horse. They didn't carry many brown books in their library because they weren't popular among the all-male population, but the few they had were gems.

Dean didn't give a damn what number was on his chest and he didn't understand the attachment Gabriel had for them. He ate the rest of his breakfast quietly and decided that Cas looked mighty fine donning five twenty-nine twenty-nine. Dean felt good being branded by Castiel's two-six-four-three-five as well. After breakfast, Dean addressed Cas on their way to the library, "You took my shirt?"

"It was an accident."

"You realize I'm going to have to take that off you today."

Castiel shot Dean a coquettish glance. "It would be wrong for you not to."

* * *

The aches Dean felt in his body were not as sharp or painful as he had imagined they would be, but he was slower than usual that day. He worked casually and carefully, reliving every hot moment from last night in his mind as he labored. Without any warning, Castiel approached Dean and began to unbutton his shirt just before their lunch hour. Dean inched away in surprise, checking the library to see if anyone was around to catch sight of them.

"Relax, Dean. I'm just taking my shirt back. 'Not in public' was one of your rules, wasn't it?" Castiel asked.

"We've skirted that line," Dean reminded Cas. "Very closely."

Castiel pulled the cotton away from Dean's shoulders to reveal a plain white, sleeveless undershirt. Cas paused, wondering if the undershirt was also his, and then was distracted by Dean's bullet wound scar that was only just visible around the edges of his undershirt. With fascination, Cas watched his skin prickle from the air. Dean shivered.

"You cold?"

Dean reddened, knowing that his nipples were hard. The library wasn't well insulated at all. "You're taking my clothes off during winter time, what do you think?"

"Were you very cold last night?"

Dean's less than complete state of dress and his memories from last night made him feel particularly vulnerable to Castiel's question. Castiel was a handsome furnace. Dean had longed for his heat through the night and when he had first awoken. One of the things that had made it so difficult for him to leave his bed that morning had been the chill. "It's always fucking cold in this place."

Castiel began to unbutton his own shirt and Dean joined in the endeavor with his eyes focused on Castiel's chest. "I don't feel it that strongly," Cas admitted.

Dean perked up at the new tidbit about Cas. He wasn't surprised by the detail because he still held on to his belief that Castiel was a Soviet immigrant, used to the mountains and the cold. With a smile in his eyes, Dean suggested, "I should wear both of our shirts then."

The thought of Cas working all day in only his undershirt was a happy one for Dean.

When they succeeded in undoing all of the buttons of Castiel's shirt, Castiel reached out to pull Dean near. Cas was susceptible to the beautiful brightness of Dean's eyes and sensitive to any discomfort he might feel. He had the incredible desire to place Dean next to a fire, but there were no fireplaces to be had in the penitentiary. Instead, Cas tried to warm him with friction from his hands. Up and down, his hands moved over Dean's scarred skin. As good as it felt, Dean was indignant about this treatment. "Cut it out, you sap. I've been cold before. I'm a man, God damn it! I've been in all sorts of bad weather."

Dean remembered having been caught in the rain during the invasions of Italy. He had marched through mud, carried packs weighted down by water, and slept in sopping wet clothing for weeks. Long before the war, Dean had been a man built to endure. Dean remembered having lived out of the family car as a boy and of clutching Sam close at night to protect him and keep him warm because they had grown up with a father that hadn't always been successful at keeping a roof over their heads. He remembered the wind that had torn at his young face during the day and ruined his hands as he broke his back doing odd jobs for strangers to supplement whatever his father earned. In those moments, another person had never comforted Dean. He had only ever been the one to warm Sam up at night, just as Cas was doing to him now.

When Castiel stopped rubbing his arms and back, Dean didn't move away from him. He wanted to hold him back and to stay warm, but they were not in the right place for that. To his ear, Dean whispered, "We should have a smoke."

They quietly exchanged shirts and Castiel pulled out one of his cigarettes. Now that he didn't have to barter them for a gift for Dean, he didn't have to be as careful about rationing them. They would share a single cigarette anyway because Cas still liked to pass indirect kisses with Dean through the paper and tobacco. Dean revealed his treasured Zippo lighter and raised it to the smoke between Castiel's lips. The spark and the flame set an alluring glow upon Castiel's face.

Dean wouldn't light a cigarette with a match like a civilian. He would only use the familiar, much loved metal lighter that reminded him of his military service and of all of the brothers he'd made and loved. The lighter in Dean's hands was one of the only things he had bartered with Gabriel to obtain. It was the lighter he had carried to prison, and he paid Gabriel for more fluid whenever it ran out.

Castiel drew a long drag and blew the smoke in Dean's face. "Why do you always do that? I can light them myself."

"You're my honorary brother," Dean replied, taking a deep breath of the air surrounding Cas. He tapped Castiel's forehead with his lighter. "This is a soldier's lighter, sweetheart. If we're gonna have smokes, we've gotta smoke like kings."

Dean drew from the cigarette, enjoying its warmth and Castiel's nearness. It dawned on Castiel that Dean had only begun giving him such special treatment after getting out of solitary. He didn't light anyone else's cigarettes. Cas stroked the lighter in Dean's hand with the pad of his thumb. "I didn't know that."

"You're not up on current affairs, I get that. That's why I'm here." Dean took a pause to transfer the cig back to Cas. "Yeah, we all got these. Sammy's got one too."

"I don't think I'm worthy of it, Dean. I'm not a soldier."

Dean contemplated Castiel for a moment. Sometimes he honestly forgot that Castiel wasn't a military man. Something about him was inherently tough, loyal, and warrior-like. Since neither of them knew much about his past, it was possible Castiel had been a soldier and he just didn't remember. "Sure you are," Dean said, "You'd fight for what you believe in, wouldn't you? You'd fight to protect someone you care about."

Castiel could see the sunny brush Dean was using to paint his service. Dean was silent about almost everything about the war even after having known Cas for over a year and having had many opportunities to talk about it. If being a soldier was so noble and glamorous, he expected Dean would have had more to say on the topic. "Is that what being a soldier is to you?"

After a distinct pause, Dean gave an answer that was surprising in its honesty. "It's part of it. The rest is a lot of orders and a lot of getting blown up. But that brotherhood, it's what makes us."

Castiel took another pull from the cigarette, but this time he drew Dean in slowly for a kiss to exhale the smoke directly into his mouth. Dean had never shared a cigarette with his brothers in arms like this, and the contact made his body burn. When they parted, Dean blew gentle curls of steamy smoke against Castiel's lips. For some moments they completely forgot about the stick of tobacco in favor of sharing smoky, heated kisses.

Three men entered the library at that time, which was the only reason Dean pulled away. They had perfected evading the eyes of others by knowing every space in the library and how often each space was usually occupied. They were fortunate that there were so many tall, stocked shelves because they usually had enough time to hear someone enter to compose themselves before they were seen. Dean took the cigarette and was about to leave to go about his business, but he stopped to search Castiel's shirt pocket. "My cufflink! Thieving son of a bitch."

* * *

Since Dean's birthday, Dean and Castiel had been closer than usual. They decided the lubricant would be rationed because Cas didn't want to wear Dean out and they had to make it last. Dean was still slightly sore on Friday. On that Friday, they spent a great deal of time neglecting work to spend time in the storage room. They made love as they had in the past, with impassioned mouths, fervent caresses, and an abundance of intense friction. By the time they were exhausted from sex, many of Dean's scars were accompanied by marks of love. Castiel had deliberately lavished the insides of Dean's thighs with sweet kisses and sucks because they were marred by irregular scars the Winchester would never explain.

Castiel's dark hair, as always, had ended up in complete disarray. Dean could only kiss Castiel for so long before he was compelled to weave his fingers in his hair. Castiel loved the way Dean stroked his scalp in gentle motions as if he believed Castiel wouldn't notice the fetish he had for his hair if he touched him very softly. Castiel's hand teased the spot of Dean he adored before settling on Dean's backside as the Winchester rested on top of him on the floor of the storage room.

"What does it matter, Cas? If we work or don't work…" Dean breathed into the other man's collarbone. "We could go out there and fuck up all the books on purpose and it wouldn't make a lick of difference."

"We always could." Castiel shrugged. "It would give us something to do."

"Or we could just burn it all," Dean sniggered. It wasn't the first time Dean had contemplated arson, nor the first time he'd mentioned it. "There's so much paper in there. I've got a lighter. It would burn up good."

Castiel tilted his head to look at Dean. He caressed his hand up his body and stroked the nape of his neck.

"We should burn everything," Dean said. "Would you be in on it?"

Castiel thought for a moment, but they both knew what his answer would ultimately be. "Of course."

They didn't burn down the library that day, but they did ignore responsibility to keep each other satiated in a warm, loving embrace. When Dean went to bed that night, something unexpected happened. After so many months free of them, Dean had a dream.

When he closed his eyes that night, Dean saw his kitchen as it had been before being covered in blood. He visualized the vivid yellow of the walls and the solid white of the cabinets in such detail that, for a moment, he was certain that he was back in his home in Iowa. The wooden table with the red top surrounded by four red and white checkered chairs sat in the middle of the kitchen a few feet away from the rustic blue back door of the house. Lacy white curtains hung over the little window on the door and over the window above the kitchen sink like sugary veils of royal icing. Lisa had decorated the kitchen to look permanently like the Fourth of July, and Dean forgot that anything terrible could have ever happened in such a place. The daffodil walls, the rose and white seating, and the forget-me-not door created such a bouquet of striking color that Dean did not notice he was not alone until the sound of chopping compelled him to notice the presence of another.

Wearing a red apron over a blue dress that had white polka dots, Lisa was preparing something at the kitchen counter. Her legs were bare because she had donated every last one of her stockings to the war effort. Lisa did her hair like Rita Hayworth, letting her dark hair tumble down the left side of her face in glamorous curls. One of the things Dean had always admired about Lisa was her complete lack of vanity and her genuine nature. She didn't need to do much to be beautiful and she often disregarded the conventions of beauty for comfort. Those stockings had made their way out of their home delightfully, for more than one reason. At the moment, she wasn't wearing any shoes.

When she turned to Dean, he was startled by how normal her eyes were. They were the dark brown of chocolate rather than the solid black of evil he had become accustomed to seeing in his dreams. A smile as bright as the moon erupted on her face at the sight of him. "Oh! Hi, Dean. I'm making a pie. Your favorite."

Dean inched near the woman cautiously without acknowledging her because he was afraid she would turn into a raging bull at any instant. That fear was evident on his face. _This isn't real. It's a dream._ If he concentrated on how the situation before him wasn't real, he thought perhaps he wouldn't be there and he would be safe. He might even wake up. Dean's focus was broken when Lisa began to pour liberal amounts of white from a large container into the pie filling. Upon seeing the Umbrella Girl on the side of the container, Dean cried in horror, "Lisa, that's salt!"

He was still too afraid to touch her, but Lisa did pause and turn to Dean, revealing her eyes to still be normal. She had covered a mound of chopped apples with salt. Disturbed, Dean questioned her. "Why are you putting so much salt in the pie?"

"Salt's good for you." Lisa smiled in return as if there was nothing wrong, and continued to douse the pie filling with salt until the container in her hand was empty. The pie filling was now almost more salt than it was apple. Dean rubbed his face and when he looked back at the wife he knew to be deceased, she was already putting the pie in the oven. Promptly, she faced him, holding the pie cutter in Dean's direction. Red flags flew and alarms blared within his dream-self and he backed away in fear, toppling over a chair.

"What are you doing?" Lisa asked, frowning.

"J-Just stop. Right there. Just stop," Dean begged, lifting his hands to protect himself. "You're going to stab me. Just don't. Don't do it this time."

"Why would I stab you?"

"You're Dream Lisa. Dream Lisa always stabs me," Dean panicked.

"What makes you think I'm Dream Lisa?"

"I killed you, that's why! This is a dream." Dean could sense his chest moving up and down with dread. Following more of Dean's adamant urging, Lisa put the pie cutter down on the breakfast table. She appeared to be very worried for him and was completely lacking in the rage and hatred he had come to associate with her.

"It's okay, Dean. Sit down, please," Lisa entreated Dean and lifted the toppled over chair so he could sit. He obeyed even though every previous experience he'd had warned him to do otherwise. "Sam's going to be fine," she said, "You worry about him too much."

Only in a dream could a total change of subject feel so ordinary. When it came to Sam, Dean didn't understand the phrase 'too much.' "I can't help it. He's my brother."

Lisa looked down at the floor, her expression indecipherable. The entire time he dreamt, she never made a move to touch him. She always kept a safe distance away from him like there was an unseen buffer surrounding his body. She was so much like the Lisa he'd known long ago that Dean stopped fighting whatever was happening in the dream. "Have you been taking care of Ben?"

The question had been spoken softly, sadly. "I can't, Lisa," Dean replied. "I'm in prison."

"You _promised_ ," Lisa cried and her eyes swelled with emotion. She had always taken care of so much and asked so little of Dean.

"How?" Dean answered. The kitchen remained as bright as ever, but it was the extreme opposite of how Dean felt. "How am I supposed to do that when I'm not free?"

In distress, she raised her voice, "You figure something out!"

"He's with your sister," Dean explained and Lisa appeared to calm down at the statement. "Everyone looks after Ben. Everyone, that is… but me."

"Well, fine, but that doesn't mean you're off the hook." Lisa hated arguing with Dean. She always had, so anytime she expressed displeasure, Dean was moved by it. In the next instant, Lisa regained her easy attitude and teased Dean. "And, please, don't let Gabriel touch you."

Dean stuttered, "W-What? Why not?"

"He's supposed to be with Charlie." Lisa covered her mouth and giggled as if she'd just told a hilarious joke.

"How do you know about Gabriel? And Charlie?" Dean shot back and Lisa shrugged.

"I know everything. Now eat your pie before it gets cold."

In far less time than it should have taken for Lisa's salt and apple pie to finish baking, it had been baked and placed in front of Dean without him being aware of it. He looked down at it and it was unreal in its perfection. Flawless. Little waves of heat radiated from its surface. Lisa's pie was the dessert incarnation of the sun, sitting upon the red sky of their table. Dean reached for the fork that had been waiting for him to take his first bite. The silver was less than a whisper away from breaking its crust when he woke up.

The morning bell rang with its characteristically loud, whining buzz. He heard the buzz crash into his dream and he lived reality and his dream world simultaneously for a quick second before his eyelids flipped apart. The sight of his cell after his dream of Lisa made him feel a sadness so complete that he felt weighed down by it. Dean woke up realizing how good Lisa had been, and how colorless his life had been since he'd killed her. The walls around him, his clothing, and everything else that filled his world was so gray and plain in comparison to the house he had once owned and the responsible, kind woman that had managed it with love.

Lisa had always been secondary to Sam. He had always preferred having a beer with his brother while watching the stars, to spending time with Lisa. He had been more proud of his car than he had been of her. That morning, more than ever, he hated himself for not having loved her more. He would never see that glowing kitchen again and he would never see another polka dot dress.

 _Her eyes were brown_.

He left his cell in such a hurry that he didn't realize the little bag of magic he kept at his bed had unraveled during the night and spilled its contents all over the floor. Dean was so agitated that he bumped into Cas gracelessly while filing into the line to get his breakfast. Castiel steadied him with a gentle touch.

"Good morning, Dean," Castiel said and his eyes were a blue so deep they were as unreal as the pie of his dreams. His eyes were always beautiful, but today they were vibrant and Dean had never been so happy to see a living person. He had trouble recognizing how something in the real world could be as flawless as something in a dream.

"Mornin', Cas." Dean swallowed, unsure if he was really awake or not. Lisa continued to haunt him even then. Dean was off the entire morning. At breakfast, he kept staring back and forth between Charlie and Gabriel. Dean's staring was so unconcealed and bizarre that Gabriel remarked on it. Dean responded to him with uncertainty. "Are you… supposed to be together?"

Charlie snorted, almost spitting out his coffee and Gabriel laughed. "Have you been smoking some funny cigarettes?" Charlie asked. "If you have, you should really share. Gabriel and I always sit together."

"Oh… Yeah, I guess you do." Dean frowned, wondering if that was what the new Dream Lisa meant. It had sounded like the new Dream Lisa didn't like Gabriel making passes at him, but it was always hard to make sense out of dreams. As he made his way to the library, Dean wondered why she had never mentioned Cas.

Dean worked vigorously that day because he was trying to get over the disturbing feeling he had from his dream. His waking world was so dull that it was easy for him to forget the all colors. What he couldn't shake was the feeling of emptiness he had. He took a break and spread out on the table that always served as his makeshift couch.

He had taken his rubber band ball into his hands to throw it up into the air and catch it as a diversion for his thoughts. Dean had made the rubber band ball after making a paperclip curtain that hung by the back entrance. The paperclip curtain had been a time-consuming project last year that ended in an ultimately useful warning device to alert them if other men were entering from the back entrance. The paperclip curtain made noise and the rubber band ball was fun to throw. They each had important functions. Dean's frustration grew as the ball refused to do its duty of wiping his mind of the life he'd had on the outside. He couldn't stop thinking about the house, Lisa, and Ben.

Lisa had been born pretty. She'd grown up hearing that her prettiness was all she would ever need because it meant someone incredible and wealthy would undoubtedly fall in love with her. She had felt that she should have been satisfied, even grateful, for those words, but she hadn't been. Discouraged from working and going to college, she had begun to seek out trouble and danger. She had wanted to do things and feel things that were beyond pretty or the opposite of pretty, and that was how she found herself with a man that hadn't wanted to settle down anymore than she had. She hadn't been disowned and branded as a whore until she got pregnant. Lisa had been so disgraced that she had no option but to run away from Michigan with nothing.

Iowa was the land where she had learned to lie. She told the story of how she had been married and how her husband had been killed in an accident so she could find work and support for herself and her baby. Lisa had known a widow was far more sympathetic than a woman that had been reckless. And yet, she had been drawn to Dean because he was tough and wild. He had been a copy of the men she should have learned to avoid. He was dirty, he cursed, he didn't go to church, he was blunt to the point of rudeness, and he was cocky to a fault. He had been exactly all of the things she had always wanted to be. Dean had been lonely, but free. He also had a family, a job, and a house. Dean had everything she desired and everything she needed. Lisa had been certain Dean would be different because his smiles to Ben were genuine and because Dean babied and cared for his brother with a love and complete acceptance that was a stark contrast to what her sister had done for her. Lisa's sister had told her that she was stupid and that everything had been her fault.

Dean had guessed her past before she had ever explained it and it hadn't bothered him. He had been convinced he was soon to die. Dean hadn't wanted to go to war without knowing what it was like to have a family of his own, so he had married Lisa, grateful that she already had a child that he could love.

Dean squeezed the ball in his hands. He hurled it against the wall furiously, and it shot from the wall to the floor and back to his hands. He was still so angry and so displeased that Lisa's end had been so much worse than the rough life she had lived as a young woman.

Castiel had taken to the front desk to work on a project he had been putting off for a while. He didn't mind Dean's silence or the violent crashes of his rubber ball against the wall by where he stood because Cas was deep in thought. Looking at the calm, disinterested Castiel aggravated Dean. Like the ball, Castiel was supposed to alleviate his dissatisfaction. "Cas!"

"Yes, Dean?" Castiel answered, without looking up from his work. He had a pencil in his mouth and was looking as handsome as always.

"What're you doing?"

Castiel exhaled a breath of impatience and flicked his eyes to the side in that famous expression of his that exemplified exasperation. He answered with the obvious. "Working."

"Come talk to me."

"I'm busy."

Dean sighed a sigh that could have been heard from every corner of the library. He went back to chucking his ball into the air and catching it, until he lost all patience and turned to scribble something on a piece of paper. When a paper ball crashed right into Castiel's forehead, the blue-eyed male showed no signs of being surprised. With composure, he reached for the paper and unraveled it.

> _I'm bored._

Castiel fixed his eyes on Dean. "Am I supposed to do something about this?"

Dean nodded in the affirmative and Castiel ignored him in favor of doing his work. If Castiel wasn't going to talk to him, Dean would talk to Cas. Whether he listened or not was not Dean's concern. "I used to play baseball with Sam."

_Sam's going to be fine._

The only positive thing he could glean from his dream was what Lisa had said about Sam. He had no logical reason to believe her, but he did. The belief that Sam would be fine pulled him together. Dean sat up on the edge of the table and pretended like he was going to hurl the rubber band ball directly at Cas. "Sammy was about eleven. We were in school for a few months before Dad moved us again and that school made us pick a sport. I picked baseball."

Castiel was listening because he couldn't fail to listen when Dean talked about his life. Dean continued. "Sammy picked baseball 'cause I picked baseball."

"Were you a pitcher?" Castiel asked. From what he saw of the nearly plaster-cracking fierceness of his hurls of the rubber band ball, Castiel could easily imagine Dean on the field, tapping a foot on the pitcher's mound.

"I've got a damn good arm, yeah, but I could play it all. Not Sammy. He was no good." Dean scrunched up his nose at the fond memory. "When I got kicked off the team, Sammy quit with me."

"Why did you get kicked off the team if you were so good?" Castiel had abandoned his pencil on the counter.

"I missed too many practices and games. I didn't give a damn. I missed school all the time. Playin' hooky or working. The other kids were all snobs anyway. I didn't wanna play with them."

Dean reclined back on the tabletop, resting his head on the stack of books he always used as a pillow. He wished he could play baseball that very instant – not with strangers, but with Sam. A period of silence passed so Castiel went back to concentrating on the inventory book in front of him. Then, Dean broke the calm again. "You ever think about…" Dean started softly, "How we've got nothin'? How we'll never have anything?"

Dean heard Castiel's book shut and he heard his steps approach. Castiel's face was soon peering down at him, expressing solemn interest. "No cars, no families, no houses, no women, no things of any kind. I don't have Sam. You don't even have your memories."

"Every man has something," Castiel said. He didn't want his memories, but he didn't feel like pointing that out to Dean in that moment. "You have your memories, very good ones."

"What do you have, Cas?"

Now and then, Castiel wasn't sure if Dean was purposely obtuse. Cas was staring at everything he had and everything he wanted. "Faith," Castiel said, "And my mind. As long as a man has his mind, he has something."

Dean winked at Castiel. "For a second there, I thought you were going to say me."

Castiel pushed Dean's book pillow out from under his head and Dean cried out complaints as he was knocked off his balance onto the table. Cas pretended to go back to work and Dean watched him with intensity. Castiel did have something else. He had a kind of fortitude that Dean didn't think he could ever emulate. He could be sarcastic and prudish, but Castiel was almost always composed. Dean wanted a piece of his mind so that he could absorb whatever awareness he had that made him so naturally tranquil and in control.

Castiel couldn't fake working for much longer. He returned to Dean and threw something soft on his chest. Perplexed, Dean gathered the items in his hands. They were a pair of fingerless navy blue knit gloves. "What the hell is this?"

" _Things_ ," Castiel replied, failing to sound as annoyed as he desired. Dean happened to express a desire for things the same day Castiel had been planning on giving him something. He watched as the Winchester sniffed the gloves apprehensively. "I thought you would recognize what gloves are."

"Yeah, I get that, but why are you giving them to me? Where'd they come from?" Dean tried one on and wiggled his fingers gleefully. His knuckles had been cracked from the cold and he expected these gloves would help.

"I found them years ago. I had forgotten about them until you mentioned being cold. I don't need them, so, naturally…"

"Well, this ain't exactly what I meant by 'things.'" Dean teased. "This is still pretty much nothin' in the grand scheme of things."

"You realize how unbelievably unappreciative you are?"

"All I'm sayin' is Charlie gave me cufflinks. Gold ones."

Castiel glared at Dean for a hot second or two. "If you want to be someone's kept woman, I suggest you seduce a guard. Guards are the only people around here with belongings of value."

Dean laughed and reached out to grab Castiel's shirt before the man could storm off. "I'm raggin' you. These are good. They're great! I like the color. Thanks, babe."

Castiel grabbed Dean's chin hard and gave him a kiss on his eyebrow. "You irritate me."

"You got any scarves?"

* * *

That Sunday, Dean accompanied Castiel to the chapel for service. Dean usually avoided the chapel, but he had a strong desire to remain by Castiel's side that week. Gabriel never attended chapel, claiming he'd been to enough services to last him for at least three lifetimes already. Charlie wasn't religious, so it was just the pair that attended with a few other inmates. Truthfully, Castiel preferred Dean not to go with him to services. Dean was a big enough obstruction in his relationship with God already.

When Castiel thought about what he wanted and needed, he thought of Dean well before he thought of God, and that was an issue he tried to deal with at chapel. It was an issue that was difficult to resolve when Dean's warm body was sitting next to him, distracting him from all things holy.

Whenever Dean wasn't making snide remarks under his breath during the sermons, he would wear defiant smirks or make aggravated faces at anything he believed to be 'bullshit.' In other words, there wasn't a second that passed without Dean expressing some form of dissent. The service was not long that Sunday. At its conclusion, all the other men left, leaving Cas, Dean, and the convict-preacher in the chapel. The preacher, known as Talbot, approached Dean and greeted him kindly, "It's good to see you here again, Dean."

"Fuck off, Talbot. I ain't here for you and I ain't here for God. I'm here for the man that sodomizes me so good. _Nightly_ ," Dean purred and wagged his eyebrows. On every occasion, the Winchester was purposefully crude to the preacher because the uptight, arrogant man with pale, soft hands was easily perturbed by vulgarity. After hearing Talbot's sermon on the depravity of sodomy and homosexuality, Dean made a point incite the holy man as much as possible on both topics. He hadn't needed to hear that sermon to hate him. Dean thought he was a phony that had lined his pockets taking advantage of the vulnerability of others. He thought a 'rich preacher' should have been an oxymoron.

"You hang by a slender thread," Talbot replied through clenched teeth before leaving.

Dean grumbled to Cas when they were left alone. "I don't know what he did, but I just know it's something awful. I'd put all my chips on rape. Little boys or little girls. It's always one or the other with these guys, isn't it? When I find out, I'm gonna smash his face in 'till it matches the ugly of his insides."

"Could you avoid using words of violence here?" Castiel urged, torn from his silent prayer by Dean's comments, as always. Asking for peace while being around Dean was a futile effort, but Cas made the attempt anyway. Today, Dean appeared genuinely sincere in his apology.

"Oh, sorry," He replied. He cast his gaze to the massive cross in front of them and crossed himself in a sloppy gesture. Dean was never consistent in how he made the sign of the cross, and that was something that brought Cas amusement. "I'm sorry, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and the…the other one."

"The Father!" Castiel blurted out.

"I know that. I was pullin' your leg," Dean teased and looked back at the cross to finish his apology. "To the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, apologies for talking about sodomy in your blessed house. We don't do it nightly. We've only done it once, but you fellas know that, what with y'all being all knowing and everything, right?"

Castiel pressed his eyes closed and again tried to finish his prayer. He regularly prayed for guidance to be the best man he could be, but he also prayed for Gabriel, Charlie, Sam, and Dean. He prayed the hardest for Sam and Dean. Cas asked God to give Sam safe places to rest, to give him peace of mind, to remind him that he was loved, and to help him return home. His prayers for Dean were similar, but more personal.

Cas prayed for Dean's safety as well, but he also specifically prayed for his mental and emotional health. He wanted Dean to hope and to know love once more. If something should ever happen to Castiel, he wanted Dean to be protected and for him to never feel pain again. Dean had already suffered and continued to suffer too much, in ways that Castiel knew the Winchester hid. The thought of Dean in agony for any reason was more than Castiel could bear. Cas had seen the face of Dean when he was broken on the outside and on the inside and he did not wish to see him like that again even from beyond the grave. The matter was so important that he had long ago begun to pray for Dean more often than he prayed for himself or anyone else.

All the time Cas spent in prayer, Dean spent daydreaming. After a few moments of speculating about the haughty preacher, Dean interrupted Cas a second time. "Don't pretend you didn't like it. Me ruffling Talbot's feathers. I saw you grin."

Castiel pried opened eye, "No, you didn't."

"I heard it," Dean smirked.

"That's not even possible. You can't 'hear' grins."

When Castiel prayed, Dean thought he looked absolutely precious. He was loveable when he was lost in concentration, talking to his imaginary friend. While Castiel resumed praying, Dean turned around to make sure they were totally alone before sliding a little too near to his friend. Dean figured Cas had to be nearly done with his prayer so he allowed his fingers to feel over the cotton covering Castiel's back just above his belt. His hands were happily gloved and mischievous. In the silence, Cas' face burned with heat. Dean made his intentions clear with soft words of temptation. "Hey, Cas, if we're going to Hell anyway… you suppose another sin would hurt?"

"W-What?" Castiel was not affronted by Dean's words as much as he was appalled by how inclined he felt to partake in the sin presented to him. Ripped from concentration by the fingers at his waist and the sharp green eyes upon him, Cas' mind was flooded with thoughts of doing anything and everything that Dean wanted to do in the chapel. Castiel tried to reason a way that Dean's proposition would not be a desecration, knowing well that he was wrong to defend such indecent behavior. When Cas turned, he was sitting thigh to thigh with a Dean that looked thrilled by the prospect of fucking him in the chapel. Dean's arm was resting on the back of the pew behind Cas and his lust was a potent wave, rolling liberally from his body. "Is there any universe in which you would respect the church?" Castiel asked softly.

"Yeah," Dean eased closer and let a gloved hand creep onto Castiel's thigh. "The universe where preachers don't find themselves in jail." Dean took his chances and bent over to press their lips together. A jolt of pleasure passed through Cas' body as Dean gently caressed his hand up his leg and as he continued to kiss him with passion. Castiel couldn't bring himself to stop returning those kisses because Dean demonstrated how fiercely he wanted Cas with every one. He privately cursed his body for being so responsive to Dean in a way that clouded his judgment. He kissed Dean back, eager and fearful of what the other man would do next. Perhaps even Dean was self-conscious about fulfilling his own sinful fantasy because they did nothing but lock lips in the chapel for an extended period of time. All thoughts of prayer were obliterated. Castiel wanted to be pushed down on the pew and touched more, but, the instant the sound of the door opening rang in their ears, Castiel hastily shoved Dean away.

The inmate that had entered threw his hands up and complained. "God damn it to hell. I missed the sermon again!"

"Yes, you did," Castiel answered, powerful shame displayed on his face. Cas ran out of the chapel without another word and the stranger sat down at the pew nearest to the cross, completely unaware of the steamy kisses that had been shared in the space only moments ago. In a strange moment, Dean could almost feel himself being watched by the eye of God. He looked up at the ceiling, expecting to find a disapproving holy spotlight aimed at him, but there was nothing but wood.

* * *

Castiel was reticent and irascible the rest of the day. Normally, they rested together on Sundays in a relaxing atmosphere of tranquility. Dean had destroyed the calm of that Sunday. When he sat to play the guitar in the yard, Castiel wouldn't sit beside him. In fact, Castiel was involved in activities completely removed from Dean. Gabriel appeared and interrupted the music to snarl at Dean, "What did you do to my precious baby brother?"

"Nothing!" Dean replied. With shaky hands, he began to tune the guitar even though it was already tuned. Gabriel grabbed his wrist to stop him. "I…Nothing. It wasn't anything _that_ bad. While we were in the chapel, I might have, um…"

Dean scratched behind his ear and made a shifty, guilt-ridden face.

"Ugh, stop!" Gabriel knew all he needed to know. He tore the guitar away from Dean. "You aren't going to touch Mary today. Not with those dirty hands."

Gabriel, the self ascribed keeper of Mary, stormed away and gave other men the privilege of playing. Anguished, Dean searched for Castiel, intent on apologizing because he knew that was what he should do. He found Castiel in his cell, curled up with a copy of _The Prince_. When Castiel saw him, he exhaled a long, aggravated breath.

Dean felt Castiel's disapproval so acutely that it stunned him out of words. The blue-eyed male put his book down and regarded Dean. "What do you want, Dean?"

"For you to stop looking at me like that."

Castiel gave him the look he had been giving Dean harder in response. Somehow, even his narrow-eyed disdain was alluring to Dean. Baffled, Dean sputtered, "What _is_ that face you're making? I can't tell if you're givin' me eyes or just really unhappy. Or both. See? This is how a fella gets confused!"

"You weren't confused. You were being deliberately provocative."

"It's just a chapel, Cas. It's not the Pearly Gates." Dean had gone to apologize, but he had started an argument. Even at the Pearly Gates, he would have wanted Cas and he didn't think there was anything wrong with that.

"You don't even try to understand."

"Hold on a second. You don't buy into what Talbot says, do you? About what we do being sinful? For fuck's sake, Cas, if we do it here or we do it there, we're still doing it either way and God's gonna see."

"That's not it. It is the chapel. The chapel is a part of something that matters to me," Castiel said. Dean had already begun to cast his eyes up dismissively. When he wasn't being intentionally offensive on the subject of his faith, Dean was nonchalant to a degree that provoked Castiel to his limits. He could practically read Dean's mind on the subject through just his body language. In a moment of frustration, Castiel got up and raised his voice. "Pay attention! I've told you before that my faith is important to me and you don't care. It's the only thing that I have that hasn't been sullied. It's the last thing I have! Do you understand that? The pure love of God is something I need. You tamper with it, on purpose, for a laugh. You get your kicks defiling what's sacred."

The sheepish look on Dean's face suggested Castiel was spot-on. At the same time that he felt thoroughly chastised and wounded, Dean was also aroused by Cas' fury. For once, Dean did not appreciate the tingly feeling Cas gave him because inappropriate arousal was the source of their current predicament. "Do you forgive me?"

"You didn't apologize," Castiel grumbled.

"I was going to… but, I think you're wrong." Dean began. He gave a cautious shrug and went on, somewhat doubtfully. "Our thing is pure. Who's to say it's not as pure as whatever you have with… uh, God?"

"What?"

"Hey, alright, I got a theory here. Let's pretend God is real for a sec. If God is real, he's making me feel all this stuff 'cause he designed everything, including me. So, me wanting you is just God inside of me telling me to want you, right?" Dean contemplated his next words before speaking. "Instinct, Cas. It's the purest thing out there and my instinct is…you."

Cas cocked his head to the side, in awe of the words spoken by Dean. He wasn't sure if he should be insulted or amazed. Long ago, Castiel had taught Dean his favorite passage from the Bible. Whether Dean remembered it or not, he was basically translating it through his particular Winchester lens. "Love comes from God…" Cas whispered.

_God is love, and all who live in love live in God, and God lives in them._

"I'm right." Dean straightened up in a cocky, self-assured posture, thinking he had come up with the perfect loophole to excuse all of his desires.

Castiel felt love for Dean. His love for Dean was what he thought could bridge his path to redemption, but he could not fathom the thought of Dean returning that love. Tiptoeing near the idea made Cas jittery. Dean was talking about lust. Lust was not love. Yet, everything they did together were acts of love. "That doesn't mean you should – not in the chapel!"

"Why not? Before the chapel, there was just a patch of grass. Now it's just a patch of grass with a lot of wood piled on top."

"Will you ever stop being so difficult all the time?" Castiel huffed. "Not in the chapel. It's like your rule of 'not in public.'"

"Okay, okay. Fair enough," Dean agreed, knowing he had pushed his luck way too far that day.

"Good," Castiel answered. He retreated back to his bed and searched out his book. He was done talking to Dean, but Dean wasn't done being near him. Dean settled down on Cas' bed, looking keen on staying for a long while. "What are you doing?"

Dean glanced around the cell with a mixture of bafflement and annoyance. "What's it look like? What, am I still in the doghouse? I thought we were good."

"I was reading."

"Well, quit reading, egghead. You read too much. It's a day of rest. You ought to be resting." Dean said. When Cas continued to stare at him uncertainly, Dean went on, "It's in the Bible!"

His fingers pried the book from Castiel's resisting hands to set it aside. Dean knew Cas had read nearly every book in the library and he had seen Castiel read that particular book before. Cas had spent most of the day being angry with him and Dean was eager to mend the rift by any means possible. He wanted to talk to him, and he couldn't if Cas was reading. Dean also wanted to be the focus of his attention in a positive light.

In resignation, Castiel leaned his back against the wall of his cell that was adjacent to his bed. He misread Dean's proximity as a sign that Dean wanted to continue what they had started in the chapel and he was not happy about it. They read together all the time. It was a form of resting they often enjoyed but today Cas didn't think he could enjoy it while Dean was around. Dean leaned up on the wall next to him, letting his legs hang over the edge of his bed.

"Listen. Sometimes I don't get you, but you are my best friend," Dean admitted quietly, with effort. Cas was the first best friend he'd ever had, apart from Sam. Dean had acquaintances and good friends, but rarely people like Cas. He never tired of Cas and he loved arguing with him as much as he enjoyed having frivolous conversations with him. He would die for Cas and he was certain Cas would die for him.

Cas looked away when Dean spoke. Dean didn't often verbalize his feelings so Castiel was moved by his confession, but he wasn't moved enough to be in a good mood about it. "I'm so sorry, Dean," Cas answered sarcastically. "I'm sorry for being _so_ confusing. If only there was something I could do about it."

_Like tell you when I don't like something only to have you ignore me._

"You could start by telling me something about you," Dean replied in a firm, no-nonsense tone. At this, Cas regarded the Winchester with clear unease and surprise in his eyes. "So, you don't remember your life before this joint. You only remember the Bible, but what about after that? Is there some big fucking secret about your first 11 years here too? Before me? Not even Gabe, the blabbermouth, tells me shit about …a-anything! It'd be a lot easier for me to not piss you off if you gave me _something_."

Castiel swallowed. He had not been expecting the conversation to drift in this direction. "You're far more interesting than I am. My stories wouldn't interest you."

"Bull. Shit."

"I never tell you things because," Castiel hesitated, "I don't… I don't have any good stories, Dean."

"You have to have at least one. If not, tell me a bad story."

"About what?"

"God damn it, Cas. Anything!" Dean fumed. He knew what life in prison was, but he also knew a man couldn't live for eleven years anywhere without a single thing of note happening to him. Respecting Castiel's privacy, Dean had never specifically asked Cas to tell him what his crime was because he had expected Cas would tell in time, but he never did. Cas would speak of his favorite things and of things he disliked. He would discuss philosophy and books, but he wouldn't touch his own past. "How about the first guy you fucked? Tell me about that guy."

Castiel visibly tensed and Dean frowned. He thought that story had some potential to be positive because Castiel had somehow learned what he had learned to bring him pleasure. It had never entered his mind that Cas may have, at some point, been a rapist or that he may have hurt another man he'd had sex with. "Wait, he's not…He's not dead, is he?" Dean asked anxiously. "You didn't… did you?"

"He is dead. Murdered." Castiel exhaled a hefty, mournful sigh. "I didn't kill him. I wouldn't have."

"Oh, okay."

Castiel thought back to a time over a decade ago. Horrible as it was, this story was still one he could tell Dean if he omitted some details. "I passed my first year here in a daze. I was completely alone all of the time, and I liked it that way. I still couldn't comprehend what had happened to me. I didn't know who I was, but I was regarded as dangerous and insane. Not a soul would talk to me. So, I spent all my time thinking, reading, and praying. I didn't need anything else. I didn't want anything else."

When Castiel spoke, Dean listened with such attentiveness that the world around them disappeared. It had been the 1930s, some of the worst times in the country's history. The prison had been even more of a hellhole in that era than it was now. Yet, the outside was so bad that it wasn't much of an improvement from the inside. In prison, a man was guaranteed food and a roof over his head and sometimes that was enough to be better than what the free man had. Castiel remembered those times as dusty and gray.

"The only attention I ever got was the bad kind. I got into fights, but only when men challenged me. The challenges didn't last for very long. I put too many men in the infirmary. I didn't mean to… not all the time. I just didn't know my own strength."

"The guys left me alone for the most part. That is, until Raphael."

Immediately, Dean began to wonder if Raphael had been the first man Cas had fucked, but he didn't interrupt the story.

"He came here almost exactly one year after I did. He was tall and lean with dark hair and eyes. He never showed emotion. He was so hard-boiled he looked like you could break a nail on his skin. I didn't care about him at all until he started trouble here. Things were never the same after Raphael. To this day, I don't know what his agenda was, but he liked to polarize everyone. It was like he wanted to see blood for the sake of seeing blood. He must have been in a gang on the outside because he had a gang mentality. Cataloging the guys, fighting, and provoking them into fights. He wanted anarchy."

"Why the fuck?" Dean whispered.

"I didn't understand it. I never will. But, he wanted to challenge me. He thought taking me down would mean something," Castiel said remorsefully. He knew why it would have meant something. Cas had been regarded as the most evil inmate and killing Castiel would have boosted the status of his murderer. "There were a lot of guys that hated Raphael. Some of them, like me, just wanted to mind their own business. Some of them believed I would win in a showdown and just wanted to be on the winning side. That's how I met Hector."

"The meaning of 'insane' became clear to me that year. Raphael, Hector… Hector was this guy…" Cas furrowed his brows. "Volatile. Blond, blue-eyed. He was emotional and so eager to fight. He wasn't afraid of me either. He goaded me on, saying I shouldn't take shit from Raphael. That I could take him, and that I _should_."

Telling this story was exhausting for Castiel. He took a break to look at Dean and get a sense of his feelings. He couldn't imagine how Dean could think hearing his story could have any benefit. Yet, Dean wanted to hear more. Dean swallowed, licked his lips, and asked, "Is Hector the guy?"

"He's the one I fucked, yes. The first guy…" Cas ran his hands through his hair in a gesture of nervousness that he rarely exhibited. "It was awful. He was as extreme about sex as he was about everything else. He liked pain. It didn't feel good and he bled the first time… He bled a lot."

"Jesus fucking Christ." Dean squirmed beside Castiel, so thankful for the lubricant and Castiel's carefulness that he had no other words.

"I didn't know that would happen! W-With bare skin. He told me that was what he wanted. He cried and it was just so – so horrendous, but then he laughed. He _laughed_. How can someone laugh at that?"

_Jesus fucking Christ._

Hector, bent over a desk with tears stinging his eyes and a large, impish, and satisfied smile on his lips, entered Castiel's mind. His blonde hair had been sweaty and had covered half of his face so that Cas could only have a glimpse of his tears and his mad grin. Cas would never forget it. "But that was only part of our relationship. With Inias and some other guys, we would try to break up the gangs Raphael had built up. I thought we were helping, but it made things worse. There were fights every day. People got stabbed in the back and raped on the regular."

"Hector wasn't a bad guy, but he was overzealous. He wanted to believe in something and I guess he believed in me." Hector had been as eager to fight as he had been to give Cas blowjobs and his body. That was how he had showed his loyalty to Cas.

"I was a terrible leader. I had no idea what I was doing, but I resolved to be at least competent at having sex without causing pain. I told Hector he wasn't any good to me if he couldn't walk so we worked something out. That's how I learned what I know."

 _Some of it_. Hector had been his first, but not his last.

"So how'd he die?" Dean cut in. Castiel couldn't tell a story like that without providing the ending.

"Stabbed, by one of Raphael's guys. Stabbed in the back, like so many others."

"Cas, I'm – "

"It's fine. It was bound to happen, I guess. Hector had become almost as bad at starting fights as Raphael. He never got to see the showdown he'd always wanted to take part in…"

"What happened? You got him, didn't you? You got Raphael."

After another long, drawn-out exhale, Castiel nodded. As he'd told his story, he hadn't been able to look at Dean for the majority of it. Now, Cas was picking the material of his pants, trying not to think about how easy it had been to end a life. "It came to that," Cas said. "Raphael didn't last for more than a couples of minutes. After a few days in the infirmary, he died."

 _Shit_. Dean was now sorry that he'd asked him anything. If all of Castiel's stories were like this one, he thought that perhaps it was better for Cas to keep them to himself. Dean didn't judge Cas any worse for the story, but he could see how difficult it was for Cas to face what he'd lived. Dean gazed at him sympathetically. "It wasn't your fault, Cas. Sounds like this Raphael son of a bitch was asking for it."

"That day was a nightmare. It was chaos. A free-for-all. All I had wanted was peace… The rules were different after that – better – but I don't think the ends justified the means."

"Fuck that, Cas. If you didn't kill this guy, he would've killed you," Dean stated and, with some reservation, Castiel nodded in confirmation of the statement. "If someone's got a mind to kill you, you have a right to at least try to kill him first. That's how it works."

"I didn't feel anything when he died. I didn't feel what I thought I should have felt," Cas whispered. More than anything, in that moment, when Raphael had been bloodied and broken by his hands, Castiel had been coolly fascinated by how fragile human bodies were. Someone as mean and seemingly immortal as the tough Raphael had crumbled in seconds. Castiel had trembled with the life-snubbing power he had. Cas tried to explain. "Just relief. Maybe I was a little bit happy."

Dean leaned forward on his knees and thought of a time in his life that was almost identical to what Castiel was trying to describe. In a surprise fight, he had stabbed an ambushing enemy soldier in his vital organ. Amazed, Dean had watched blood flow like a river all over his hands and arms. It had been a kill from close quarters, vicious and leaving an impression on him that he would have forever. If not for the color of his uniform, the man Dean had killed might have been mistaken for an American. But he hadn't been an Allied troop at all, and Dean had experienced the same awe of how quickly life could be extinguished from a body. "Relief is not the same thing as enjoying a kill. You didn't enjoy it, did you?"

"No."

"Then you're fine." Dean answered so decisively that he drew all of Castiel's attention. Castiel laughed a wry, unhappy laugh.

"I could be lying," Cas said.

"But you're not. You wouldn't lie to me."

Yet again, Castiel exhaled. "Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"You always assume the best of me."

"'Cause I know you. Whatever happened then, that wasn't you," Dean replied with complete resolve. "That was something you had to be."

Castiel didn't believe him. Dean groaned and put his hand in Castiel's face, wiggling his fingers in his direction. "You're the bookworm that gives horrible presents, like smelly old gloves that don't even got all their fingers. I assume the best of you because you're my best fucking friend, like I said. God damn it, Cas. Don't you pay attention? You think I would be best friends with a lying, cold-blooded murdering rat bastard?"

"What if you are?"

"I ain't!"

"You're not…disgusted by me?"

"A little bit." Dean allowed for a pause just to make Cas fidget. "I'm kind of disgusted you can go through all of that and still not let me fuck you in a church."

The scandalized look on Castiel's face prompted Dean to grab the other man and squeeze him tight. "Not that again!" Cas hissed, "You – You're infuriating."

"I think you mean 'adorable,'" Dean responded with a cheeky grin. He pulled Castiel down on his bed and continued to hold him loosely. His lips found the space above Castiel's eyebrow.

"Dean, I'm not in the mood."

"Not in the mood for what? A nap?"

"You want to… _nap_ together?"

Dean chuckled and cast his eyes to the ceiling. "Not if you're going to say it like that. It's not napping together. It's just – the day of rest. Your story was so good it wore me out…made me sleepy. And now I don't feel like walking to my own bed."

Castiel was fairly certain he was being invited to cuddle, which was something that had never happened between them before without being preceded by sex. Hesitantly, Cas slung his arm around Dean. The bed was so small their bodies had to be overlapping in some way. Cas expected Dean to caress him or kiss him, but he did neither. Dean remained still and closed his eyes in contentment now that Castiel was near. "Day of rest," Dean mumbled. "So shut up and sleep."

"Not if you're going to be rude about it."

Dean grinned and placed his lips to Castiel's forehead again in a kiss that lingered. " _Please_ shut up and sleep."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas reconcile and renew the strength of their bond. Dean goes on an unusual adventure with Charlie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Hi to people that have just found this fic! Whoo, I finally managed to write a shorter chapter. It's still pretty long, but not a monster like the last one. I hope you enjoy this chapter even though it's a little scattered. I definitely have plans for this fic and I'm going to continue with it in spite of how long it seems to take me to write each chapter. This time I was definitely distracted by SPN 8. Geez, it was so Destiel I started to wonder why I bother writing fic at all, haha. No, but I'm definitely going to keep writing this. Thanks for reading! All the bookmarks, subscriptions, kudos, etc. do motivate me to keep pluggin' on! :)
> 
> I totally get distracted by looking up 1930s/40s stuff too whenever I write for this fic, like this [Frankenstein (1931) Trailer](http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=bKyiXjyVsfw#!) on YouTube. If you're curious, it's relevant to this chapter in a small way and will make you laugh.

* * *

Dean had barely slept since having his dream of Lisa. Saturday night, he had seen the remnants of his valued hex bag on the floor of his cell and a tremor of superstitious dread had overcome his body as events became clear. His bizarre dream of Lisa had occurred in tandem with the destruction of the bag of herbs. Not even the cynical soldier had been able to reason that the situation had been pure coincidence. Dean had reaffirmed in his mind that it wasn't magic, it was medicine, but he also knew that without the hex bag, he was likely to relapse into long nights of anxiety and discomfort. So, when Dean had invited Cas to sleep with him on the day of rest, he had done so as a man that had slept only two fitful hours the previous night.

Dead to the world, Dean gathered Cas near as if the other man was a living amulet that would guard him during his most vulnerable moment. To Dean, all dreams were synonymous with nightmares. He never dreamt of being a hero, only of being a victim, a murderer, or both. His most pleasant dream in years had been his most recent dream of the Lisa that refused to stab him, and even that dream had caused him to wake feeling unnerved. With Castiel flush on top of his body, Dean didn't dream at all.

The heat of Cas' body kept him warmer than any blanket. Cas was a soothing, welcoming weight. As Dean slept, he felt the rise and fall of Cas' chest and his slow, gentle breaths. They were so calmly nestled together that a quiet happiness softened the lines of their faces. They slept together for hours. Inevitably, someone found them.

"Well, well, well, fellas…" Gabriel wore a Cheshire Cat grin as he halted his stroll full stop to gaze at Cas and Dean's tender embrace. Dean was lying on his back with his arm snug around Cas and Cas was cozy against him, pulling Dean into his body in his slumber. Castiel's cheek was pressed firmly to Dean's chest.

Charlie, who had been trailing Gabe and flipping through a comic, smashed into the other male. "W-What! Why'd you stop?"

"Shhh! Shhh, _shush!_ You'll wake the husbands," Gabriel hissed and gestured enthusiastically to their friends. Soon, Charlie was gawking along with Gabriel.

"They're going to catch a lot of attention if they keep doing things like that," Charlie worried out loud as he leaned against the bars of Castiel's cell and continued to watch the two men sleep. Gabriel was very familiar with the nature of Charlie's fears and he brushed them away with a hushed scoff.

"This isn't the outside. Nobody cares. They're not the only ones having sex for fun around here." They both knew it was more than 'fun' with Dean and Cas, but that didn't need to be said. Gabriel went on, "And nothing could catch more attention than Cas fucking Dean in plain sight."

"Did you see it?" Charlie asked curiously. He knew as well as anyone that it had happened, but he hadn't caught them at it.

"Only me and half the guys." Gabriel smirked and rubbed Charlie's vibrant head of red. "Where the hell were you? It was a good show. If you'd told me you wanted a seat I could've saved you one."

After spending so many slow months around Gabriel, Charlie had become almost an expert at picking the scoundrel's brain. "You didn't. Please tell me you did not organize a peep show of our friends fucking."

"I made a _killing_."

"You're a pig," Charlie breathed in disgust. Charlie's cell was on the third floor above the second floor that held Dean and Cas. He had been too busy toying with his gadgets to pay much mind to the occasional soft human noises that had fallen on his ears the night of Dean's birthday.

"Part-time pimp," Gabriel corrected. The king of entertainment of the pen would have been neglecting his duties if he hadn't created a spectacle of the very hot, genuine sex he'd helped guide to fruition.

As Gabriel had tortured Cas with the hopes of obtaining lube to test his limits and to relegate his own work to Cas while taking all the credit for it, Gabriel had been inspired. What had been building within Castiel had been something worth more than cigarettes and dollars. Anticipation. Hope. _Sexual frustration_. By dangling the carrot of penetrative sex in front of his friend for so long, Gabe had guaranteed an exhibition worth seeing – the release of all of Cas' tension. All Gabriel had needed was the perfect vantage point, measured by its secretiveness. The desire Cas had for Dean, harbored discreetly, was lightening in a bottle, begging to be sold to the highest bidder. More than a few inmates had fantasies about either Dean or Cas, so it had been a natural scheme. Dean might have been off the menu, but careful peeks were fair game. "All I do is make dreams come true," Gabriel professed proudly. "Anyhow, what they don't know, can't hurt 'em."

Charlie eyed Gabriel with an unhappy look. "If I tell them, I know one person that's going to be hurt."

"You wouldn't dare!" Gabriel huffed and then panicked when Dean and Cas stirred ever so slightly. Gabe pulled Charlie close to his body and shushed him. Whispering to his ear, he said, "Just look at them. So innocent. If you say something, it'll _tear them apart_."

Gabriel had a point. Dean would probably die of shame. He would definitely close himself off a lot more. Perhaps Castiel would as well. "Just don't do it again," Charlie growled quietly. "It's degrading. They're our friends."

"Scout's honor." Gabe released Charlie to make a tiny salute, and the slender, pale redhead leaned his face into the cell bars. If Gabriel had done such a thing to his beloved 'little brother' there was no telling what he may have done to Charlie without his knowledge.

"I wish I had a camera," Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the sleeping pair like they were a work of art. At that precise moment, he saw his favorite guard approaching from around the corner through his peripheral vision. "Oh, goody! Uriel!" Gabriel cheered in a loud whisper and beckoned the guard over with an energetic wave. "You got a camera, buddy? I wanna get a snapshot of this."

Uriel turned to look inside Castiel's cell where Gabriel was gesturing with his thumb and he flinched noticeably at the sight of the infamous Castiel innocently curled up into the soldier's resting form. They looked as sweet as soul mates. Again, Gabriel pleaded, "C'mon! I know we've got one. I want a keepsake to send Sammy. And an extra copy for me."

Gabriel wagged his eyebrows. Uriel groaned and refused to stay to observe them any longer, grumbling about 'these homos' as he left. Gabriel called out after him, "At least let us borrow a pen! I wanna draw on their faces!"

"Shh! You're going to wake them." Charlie pulled on Gabriel's sleeve. "We should just go."

"All I need is a pen," Gabriel complained. Playing pranks in prison was more difficult than doing them on the outside because of the lack of resources. It was frustrating, but Gabriel was determined to do something to embarrass Dean and Cas. He entered the cell against Charlie's urgings and stood over the couple. _Think, Gabriel, think. There has to be something in this cell you can stick somewhere it doesn't belong._ He glanced over at the toilet paper and brought his hands together in thoughtful, conspiring gesture. When he looked back at the bed, a single, fierce blue eye had pried open to stare him down, completely alarming him. " _Putain,_ C-Cas!" Gabriel cursed. "You're awake!"

"What are you doing here?" Castiel asked in an even, distrustful tone.

"Nothing. I'm just standing here. Honest to God. This is a good standing spot." All of Gabriel's hopes of harassing the pair were destroyed when Dean also awoke. The veteran yawned a long, pleased yawn and smiled from the heat Castiel's body lent to him. His fingers were edging towards Castiel's hair when he caught a glimpse of Gabriel. A spasm of shock to overtook Dean and he crashed out of Castiel's bed suddenly.

"Whoa! What happened? I don't remember anything!" Dean lied, gaping at Gabriel from his position on the floor. Dean checked his body to make sure he was fully clothed and had not been victimized by Gabriel in some way. Relieved to find everything normal, he fixed an angry gaze at the intruder. "What the hell are you up to, Gabe?"

"Damn it." Without bothering to explain himself further, Gabriel stalked out of the cell and whined to Charlie. "I'm bored now."

A very confused Dean watched Gabriel and Charlie stalk away down the hallway. Dean made a quiet remark to Cas after they left. "For a second, I thought that was a nightmare."

"What, Dean?"

"Gabriel's face," Dean answered groggily, hoping he would never see that man's visage upon waking again.

* * *

After waking up feeling so wholly refreshed from their nap together, Dean had come to recognize that Castiel had a spectacular healing touch that calmed his spirit. He felt it in small increments everyday in the mutual ease they shared, but Dean noticed it more strongly after having experienced two disturbed nights in a row. Dean desired more of the sensation he got from being restfully intertwined with Cas. He also wanted Castiel to know that he was adored no matter how horrid and dark his past had been.

'Strange' had been a word Dean had first associated with Cas upon initially speaking to him and now he knew why better than ever. Cas had bouts of terrifying violence, and yet he was also gorgeous and soothing to Dean's body and mind. Castiel was one of a kind, and he easily captivated Dean. The Winchester wanted to learn everything there was to know about him and he thought showing love after such a significant confession from Cas would be the best way to ensure that Castiel felt safe with him in future.

Sunday night had been a beautiful blur of makeup sex. Dean had been apologetic through his kisses and grateful in every caress. He wanted to make Cas forget about their fight and about all the unpleasant things Cas had relived by telling a story from his past. Under such careful attention, Cas forgave Dean for angering him and for making him remember how cruel he was capable of being. Their apologies and words of forgiveness were never spoken, but they were evident within their soft moans and imprinted into flushed skin. The adoration colored with notes of forgiveness continued the following day in the library.

Dean couldn't keep his mind off of Cas. Cas had spoken more about himself on that Sunday than ever before. His emotions had been raw and engrossing. Dean surmised that Hector had been drawn to Castiel's strength and stony viciousness, much like he had upon being defended by Cas for the first time. The thought that he could have anything in common with Hector worried Dean because he wanted to be nothing like the masochistic, self-destructive ghost of Castiel's past. Dean wanted to be extraordinary and special to Cas in a way that the other man appreciated.

"Dean, you have to stop. I'm – we'll never get anything done if you don't. Someone will catch us," Cas said to Dean in between yet another loving kiss. He knew Dean was being especially affectionate because of their fight and the story he'd told the day before, but it felt too good to have so much of Dean's attention for Cas to be distraught by it.

"Baby, just one more. This is all that's keeping me warm," Dean breathed, pushing Cas more firmly into the stocked bookshelf behind him. Following a deep, dizzying kiss, his mouth soon found Cas' neck and the other man shuddered with desire.

"Have a smoke if you're cold," Cas suggested, noting that Dean wasn't sticking to 'one more' kiss at all.

Dean's fingers stroked a pert nipple through Cas' shirt. He let his lips roam over Cas' collarbone and he purred, "You're better than smokes. Warmer."

"Yes, but – "

"I certainly hope no one is fornicating in this library," announced the peeved, professorial voice of Death. "I'd like to return a book without having to wash my eyes."

Death walked over to the front desk and slammed a book of poetry down on the counter. In the back of the library, Cas eased away from Dean. Dean had taken to wearing the standard issued prisoner's cap due to the cold because any additional piece of clothing, no matter how small, ameliorated the effects of the winter chill. When Dean grinned with part of his face concealed by his cap, Cas was astounded by his handsomeness. "That fucker," Dean complained. "Go on, find out what he wants now."

Castiel was so disciplined in hiding his emotions that he was able to join Death without being too obvious about what he had been doing. Death devoured books on poetry and Castiel had a few new recommendations for him after processing his return. The relationship shared by Castiel and Death was a curious one. When they were together, they exuded similar vibes of eerie coolness. They had respect for each other, but no fondness.

One of the highlights of Death's week was finding new poetry to read, so he tolerated the obsession shared between the two librarians. He tolerated Castiel's occasional lovestruck absentmindedness and he tolerated being sometimes drawn into Dean's musings about Cas. Death was disappointed, but not surprised, that Dean had ignored his warning about getting too close to Cas.

All in all, the day passed with typical traffic. Dean was more careful about restraining himself around Castiel until the hour when they were setting up to leave for the day. Inmates were still in the library when Dean approached Cas behind the large, angular front desk to slip in between the older male and the counter. He grabbed Castiel's hand and pressed a neatly folded square of paper into his palm. Cas pulled back and carefully unfolded the paper, inwardly hearing the message messily scrawled upon it in Dean's voice.

> _You want to fuck me against the wall during rec time?_

Dean watched, expectant, but Castiel had been stricken mute. In case anything was lost on Cas, Dean gave him a glimpse of the tube of lubricant he had in his pocket. From the way Cas' hands began to sweat and shake, the paper he was holding might have been mistaken for a scorching piece of coal. Castiel had received many propositions in his life, but this one was different because it was from Dean, who was so near, wearing a smug, satisfied expression. Cas didn't think any other man could be so effortlessly forward and seductive. "Well?" Dean asked.

The paper fluttered out of Cas' clumsy fingers and mocked him by landing in between Dean's shoes. Cas swallowed, unsure if he should answer Dean or pick up the paper first. When he made a move to bend down, Dean grabbed his wrist to stop him. "Is that a yes, sweetheart?" Dean cooed.

"Of course. That's – uh, _yes_." Castiel's expression was priceless. Such a question didn't have to be asked twice.

Rec time couldn't come quickly enough. Charlie would have to find another man to spot him during his weight training in the yard because Dean was involved in another athletic activity in the library storage room. In the first time since Dean's birthday, Cas enthusiastically fingered Dean, using the precious lubricant he'd broken his back to procure. He tried to gauge the perfect amount that would be comfortable for Dean while allowing them to save as much of it as possible. Dean, still stunned by the new sensations, was sensitive in his hands. Cas' fingers delved inside Dean with ownership, but his possessiveness was kind. His gentle, eager caresses that demanded to give Dean pleasure were accompanied by deep, loving kisses.

The Winchester pulled on Castiel's shirt, and all but begged for Cas to fill him. Castiel hoisted Dean up with impressive strength and pushed within him to satisfy Dean's craving for him. As before, Dean's tightness was marvelous.

"Don't hold back," Dean moaned as he clutched onto Cas. Castiel didn't. When it came to fighting and sex, Cas did not know his own strength. From his standing position, Cas bruised Dean's back with the force of his fervent thrusts. Being fucked into the wall with reckless abandon was exactly what Dean had wanted. He cried out in pleasure and urged Castiel on. Their hot breaths filled the room and Dean came without having his dick stroked. "Fuck," Dean moaned, " _Fuck_."

Castiel continued to pin Dean to the wall, maintaining his stamina well after Dean found release. Even following a night of intense carnal love, Cas was still ravenous for Dean. Wrapped tightly around Cas, Dean spoke the name of his lover in quiet praise and left desperate kisses on his lips and face. At last, Cas spilled his seed into Dean's depths and muttered something softly into his skin. Lips and the careful drag of teeth on Dean's unmarred shoulder followed his unheard words.

"What?" Dean mumbled.

"I love…" Castiel trembled, hot and emotional. _No, no, no. Don't!_ "…making you come."

The power behind Castiel's words prompted Dean to bring their mouths together for a heated kiss. "I love it when you make me come, babe," Dean muttered in reply. He was unable to carry on sentences without kissing Cas in between words. "I fucking _love_ it. You inside me…"

Listening to Dean's breathy words and feeling them against his mouth, Castiel knew he was in trouble. He settled down on the floor with Dean to hold him and kiss him all over. Holding Dean in his arms and feeling the rapid beats of Dean's heart with his lips made Castiel feel euphoric. Being with Dean was living in paradise.

The blue-eyed man was so afraid that one day he would slip. One day he would feel compelled to tell Dean exactly how he felt against his better judgment. Cas kept his mouth and tongue occupied to prevent those words from falling upon Dean's ears. They remained enveloped together on the floor for an extended period of time and yet they did not become fatigued. Finally, Cas rolled on top of Dean on the floor and growled with renewed energy, "I want you again."

* * *

In the showers the next morning, pink burn marks from where Cas had pushed his naked body into the wall and the floor of the storage room were visible on Dean's back. Forbidden to touch him or even look at him, Ruby still dared to take note of those marks. He found it unfair that Cas would brand Dean with all the evidence of how much he enjoyed Dean's body like he was flaunting the nature of their relationship to everyone. It made it more difficult not to look at Dean, but Ruby fought his urges out of fear. He couldn't have Dean yet.

Dean was sore and oblivious to the notion that his scuffed appearance was drawing attention and had meaning to the other men. He thought his guard was secured well enough not to betray how close he was to Cas and not to betray weakness. Since the showers could sometimes be a dangerous place, maintaining a certain appearance in them was important, so Dean continued to avoid showering anywhere near Castiel. Instead, he usually placed himself by Charlie to silently protect the redhead and keep his distance from the temptation of Cas and any unsavory characters. Charlie may have been older than Dean, but he was a civilian and still very boyish and vulnerable in Dean's eyes. Charlie appreciated the gesture.

The showers would always be defined by a sense of precariousness just like the library would always continue to be a sanctuary. The library was Castiel's domain and had become so central to Dean's new life that it felt like more of a home than anything else in the prison. A younger Dean would have never imagined that a library could be so important.

Within the Winchester family, it was an understatement to say that money had been scarce. School had been a rare luxury and work had often been so physically demanding that Dean had never had as many opportunities to read as he had in prison. He had always been too preoccupied to ever linger in libraries for long. Cas, treasured as a lover and best friend, was also the kind of professor he'd never had, guiding Dean to the tomes he had always wanted to read. Dean liked stories of adventure, heroism, justice, and the kinds of monsters that lived within men or could be hunted by men. Long ago, Dean had finished all the best Westerns they had available and had asked Cas to help him find all the best monster books.

"You're reading that again."

Dean glanced up from his copy of _Dracula_ to face Charlie, who was staring down at him with consternation. Along with _The Ox-Bow Incident, The Hobbit,_ and _Frankenstein_ , _Dracula_ was among Dean's favorite books. He could breeze through it because it was so dark and exhilarating. "Yup," Dean answered the other male simply.

"Why do you like books about monsters so much?" Charlie asked. Castiel had never asked Dean such a question, assuming his love of monster books aligned with his love of action and suspense. Charlie, on the other hand, found his tastes bizarre. After having earned enough of Dean's trust to hear the true story of his crime, Charlie couldn't understand why Dean would be drawn to monsters when he suspected a monster may have been involved in the murder of Lisa. When Dean had shared his story with Charlie months ago, Charlie had revealed the story leading to his crime.

Charlie had grown up as the only child of well-to-do, hardworking parents. He had always been good with mechanics and numbers, but he pursued mathematics over anything mechanical to work in the financial sector. He had been deemed a 'boy genius' so promising that he'd been hired to work at banks at an unheard of young age.

When he was anxious, Charlie stole. The crash of the stock market and the aftermath made him so paranoid and uneasy that he compulsively stole from every bank that had ever hired him. Both of his parents had become unemployed and he felt a responsibility to provide for them. Charlie had been lucky enough to be among the brightest of all the bankers, so he had almost always kept jobs even after others had lost everything. In the end, it hadn't mattered how much he had stolen because his parents had become victims of the mayhem and poverty around them. Charlie never explained exactly what had happened to his parents, but only said that after their deaths, he became all the more interested in the art of stealing through creative numbers and other stealthy, non-violent avenues. He was a kleptomaniac. Charlie had admitted to being a fraud and embezzler to Dean and Cas, but he had completely denied having taken a part in the massive scheme for which he was serving time. The last employer he had worked for had been the one to damn him.

That employer, Richard Roman, was slick, handsome, and charming in a perpetually confident manner. He smiled often and asked everyone to call him 'Dick' in a gesture of familiarity and friendliness, but he was as duplicitous as Charles Ponzi. While others lived in squalor, Dick became one of the new millionaires of the times. He had doted on Charlie, claiming that he had a 'special spark' that would someday take him to the top. Time and time again, Charlie had been asked to do things that were horrendously immoral, but not illegal. For years, Dick had put Charlie on various special projects and had appeared to put his confidence in the young man. In a moment of indiscretion caused by too much brandy, Dick had admitted that he loved the Great Depression and that he never wanted things to change. In fact, he had promised their prosperous times were only just beginning. After that moment, Charlie had decided to boldly steal every penny he could dare to steal from Dick. He had never been caught on those offenses.

Dean held a disdain for bankers but he had enjoyed Charlie's story because much of the money Charlie had stolen from Dick was still concealed safely on the outside like a buried treasure from a pirate novel. What wasn't hidden had been anonymously donated to all the families whose homes had been foreclosed and were now owned by Dick. Dean had liked the Robin Hood-like flair of that part of Charlie's story so he had decided not to lose complete respect for Charlie even though he had been a banker.

Charlie had been promoted and pampered for years even as he stole from the company until the day the Feds began to breathe down Dick's neck. Having decided he wouldn't spend a second in prison, Dick had thrown Charlie under the bus. He had pinned his corporate crimes on his subordinate in a spectacular, elaborate performance that had included the total character assassination of Charlie. Cas and Dean had never seen Charlie angry quite like he had been the day he had explained the way Dick had framed him.

After what had happened to Charlie, Charlie couldn't hear the name Dick Roman without wanting to crush the nearest inanimate object in sight. He thought Dean reading monster books was the equivalent of him having to read a column praising the entrepreneurship of Dick Roman. Yet, as much as Dean despised when Cas or anyone else spoke about demons, Dean would still read books about monsters, including demons and the Devil.

"What'd you mean?" Dean responded to Charlie, "Everyone likes monster books."

"Gabriel doesn't," Charlie said.

"Pfft, Gabe! Gabe doesn't count." Dean folded his book in the middle of one of Professor Van Helsing's engrossing speeches. "That guy isn't interested in anything but being the next Frank Sinatra. And being an annoying little shit."

"He wants to be Van Helsing," Castiel cut in, drawing the attention of the two other men. "That's why he likes monster books." Cas figured that Dean dreamed of being the 'man with the plan.' He thought Dean wanted to be the hero that was strong enough to face the unimaginable. From where he was lying, Dean covered his face with the book, wondering if Cas had been spying from over his shoulder.

"Shut up, Cas. That's not it," Dean mumbled, embarrassed. He sat up on the table and directed his attention to Charlie. "I don't know why I like them. Maybe it's because Dad used to tell us scary stories all the time. Crazy old man…"

"His favorite story was just so… Jesus, for telling us this story, Dad was a monster, let me tell you. When we were little, he loved to tell us the story of the lady that drowned kids," Dean said. "He would always tell us that if we didn't listen to him, she would come and get us. She would kidnap us because she liked to punish misbehavin' kids. Dad said if we ever separated from each other, we were as good as drowned."

"La Llorona," Castiel mused, shaking his head as he remembered that Gabriel had been told the same stories. Gabriel had hated those stories because he had always been the most misbehaving of all of his siblings. Persuaded that he would be the first one drowned, as a young child, Gabriel had avoided all swimming pools for a long while, until his older brother Lucien had maliciously thrown him into one in the dead of night. Perhaps that was why Gabriel loathed monster stories.

"What? I don't know, yeah, I guess so," Dean remarked, "I can't remember what he called her, I just remember that Sammy would damn near pee his pants. He thought it was all real. I think he still does."

Living out of the car and squatting in abandoned shelters always increased Sam's anxiety. Dean had always been there for Sam, promising that he wouldn't let anything get him. "Maybe I like 'em because they make me think of Sammy." Dean grinned. "The first movie we ever saw was _Frankenstein_. Even though he's a big baby, he loved it."

"After the war, I hope Sam comes to visit," Charlie sighed. The more he heard about Sam, the more disappointed he was that he had never met him.

"Well, he wouldn't come to see you!" Dean nudged Charlie with his toe. Eager to change the subject, he said, "Hey… speaking of ghosts, have you seen the haunted closet?"

"The what?" Charlie adjusted his glasses. "No… What haunted closet?"

"Cas! You never took Charlie?" Dean exclaimed and Castiel shook his head. The Winchester leaned onto his knees to address his bespectacled friend. "You're a man of science, ain't ya?"

"Well, not really – "

Excited, Dean went on, "You've got savvy. You're a practical man. You don't believe in things unless you seem 'em, right?"

"Um, sure."

"Then come with me!" Dean set his book down and hopped off the table.

"Wait, are you serious? Are you talking about a real ghost here?" Charlie asked. " _You_ of all people, believing in ghosts?"

"I didn't say that. It's just a rumor that it's haunted. I ain't about to judge it one way or another until a man of science confirms it. Here's the deal: I shove you in this closet, you investigate, and you tell me just how haunted it is… or isn't."

"You're really serious. You really want to shove me into a haunted closet?" Charlie chuckled. He had been shoved into closets before under unhappier conditions, but Dean doing the same thing didn't bother him. There was intrigue surrounding his proposition and Charlie was bored. He beamed. "I'm in!"

"Cas, you wanna come with?"

"No, thanks." Castiel was very amused by how eager the other two had become, but he thought he was too biased to accompany them on their so-called scientific endeavor. He knew the closet to be haunted without needing concrete evidence.

"Suit yourself," Dean said. "Watch _Dracula_ for me while we're out."

"I'll guard it with my life," Castiel smiled.

Dean winked. "You're a good man."

"You're a better man."

At the sight of Dean's goofy expression, Charlie stomped his foot impatiently. "C'mon, Dean. You can make passes at each other when we get back. I'm growin' old here!"

"I wasn't – " Dean babbled, but was dragged away by Charlie before he could complete his sentence. The last thing he saw leaving the library was a sweet expression on Castiel's face that made him giddy. Dean forced himself to regain focus on the mission at hand. He remembered the way to the haunted closet perfectly because it had made such an impression on him the first time Castiel had shown it to him. On their way to the closet, Dean recounted the tale of the tragic dead inmate and Charlie listened with rapt attention. The innocent wonder in Charlie's eyes reminded Dean of Sam in the best way possible. This was exactly the kind of thing he used to do with Sam.

They reached the door promptly and Dean opened it. "Alright, Charlie. If you can last more than five minutes, we'll know the story's bunk. Cas says nobody's ever lasted more than five minutes. Hop to it, kiddo!"

"Wait, why do I have to go in there alone?" Charlie stared into the cluttered closet.

"You're the scientist. If I go in there, I'll just influence you. You've gotta be all ears. Make your own decision about the closet and let me know. I have to keep time too," Dean said and pointed to the clock on the wall nearby. "It's fine. I don't think there's anything special about the closet at all, and I'll be out here the whole time in case something…"

"Something what? What happened when you went in there?"

"Don't worry about it," Dean pushed Charlie into the closet and closed the door. Immediately, the redhead felt unnerved. The small space was as dark as the inside of a cocoon - darker than he thought was possible. Charlie reached up blindly for the chain to the closet's light bulb. He pulled once and no light came on. He pulled again.

"Dean, the light doesn't work."

"Yep! It's the wiring. It's got bad wiring."

"Bad wiring…" Charlie whined. _It's just a closet, just like Dean says._ Charlie took a deep breath and wandered into the pitch-dark space. He didn't get far before tripping on something and causing a load of small, unknown assorted items to fall on top of him.

"You okay, Charlie?"

"Yeah, I just tripped. It smells in here," Charlie coughed. For the next few seconds, Charlie tried to find steady footing. He didn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary and yet he felt it become harder and harder to breathe. "It's really stuffy in here."

"That's old closets for ya," Dean said, tapping his foot. He was keeping his eye on the clock. Almost a minute had passed.

A broom smacked into Charlie's back hard and the man let out a yelp. Ever since he had entered the confined area, he'd felt like every object in the closet was out to get him. "Damn it!"

"Four minutes to go. Nothing evil yet, huh?"

"I don't like it in here," Charlie moaned. He felt something, like a breath, tickle the back of his neck and he froze. The hairs on his arms stood up and his glasses fogged inexplicably. _It can't be. I'm the only one in here_. Very slowly and very carefully, Charlie reached behind himself as if he could catch the phantom off guard. In a tone almost below whisper he said, "Is somebody there?"

Perhaps this was an elaborate prank that Dean had planned because Charlie felt a presence. A metallic object rolled off a shelf and onto the floor without Charlie touching a thing. _Rats. It has to be rats_. Charlie inwardly told himself to calm down. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt. In his state of blindness, he felt a touch on his midsection and cried out in alarm. "Dean! What did you do?! There's something in here!"

Frowning, Dean approached the door. "I didn't do anything. What do you mean something? Like an animal?"

"It _touched_ me! I felt something… S-Something… like… like a finger…" Charlie panted and stumbled to the door. "Open the door!"

"C'mon, you've only got two and half minutes left! You can do it."

"Okay, okay," Charlie knit his brows together. This time, the metal screech of a shelf being moved startled him out of all reason. "No, no, nope! Dean, open the door!"

"But, you're so close."

Charlie reached for the doorknob and found it to be as cold as ice. _What the hell?_ Frozen or not, he was getting out of that closet. He jiggled the chilled doorknob, but it wouldn't budge. "Dean!"

"It's not locked…" Dean huffed and tried to help Charlie in his escape. He pulled on the door as hard as possible, but it wouldn't open. On Dean's side of the door, he felt a powerful shock, like he'd grazed his fingers against a severed electrical wire. "Fuck!"

"What happened?" Charlie cried, still unable to open it from the inside. "Dean, it's stuck!"

"Damn this fucking closet!" The Winchester griped. "Okay, stand back, Charlie. I'm gonna kick it in."

"Hey, wait a minute!" Charlie could hear Dean preparing to do some damage on the door, so he jumped back into one of the shelves, cutting his arm on something unseen. His other hand became stuck in a bucket. He felt the breath on his neck more distinctly and swore he even heard it. It was an angry, human sigh. The entire closet hummed in agony, but, in the next moment, light was upon him. Dean was looking down at him with concern. He grabbed Charlie's wounded arm and hauled him out of the closet.

"Damn it! Forty seconds away!" Dean hissed as he looked at the clock once Charlie was in the clear. He hadn't needed to kick down the door. It had become unstuck on its own. Charlie had no words. Now that he was out of the closet, he felt free. He felt himself take a huge breath of relief. Charlie was not easily scared, but he was trembling. "Charlie?"

"Something's in there, Dean," Charlie huffed and inched away from the door even more.

"Did you see it? Was it mice?" Dean asked, still skeptical.

Charlie shook his head, sure that Dean would make fun of him if he told him he'd felt a man breathing on him. He'd felt a cold breath upon him twice. Dean took in the sight of his friend. He noticed his frazzled appearance and the cut on his arm, but he also saw him clutching onto something made of cloth. "What the hell's in your hand?"

Charlie hadn't noticed he was holding onto anything until Dean mentioned it. He lifted the object between them, revealing it to be an old prisoner's cap, much like the one Dean wore. As Charlie turned it over in his hands, their eyes were drawn to a dark brown stain on the side of the hat. "Is that?"

"Blood," Dean confirmed.

* * *

By the time they returned to the library, they found Gabriel in Dean's favorite spot, chatting up Castiel. The way Charlie and Dean charged into the room made them turn with interest. Dean threw the old hat on the table. Without having to explain a thing, the others understood.

The hat sat on the table like a living memory. It was dusty, dirty, and injected with the history of a man long gone. The bloody stain was so old that it looked blacker than it did red. Pieces of the hat had been eaten away by whatever other critters lived in the closet. The four men surrounded the hat, marveling at its mere existence.

"I thought you made that all up," Gabriel said to Cas. In the absence of Dean and Charlie, Castiel had filled him in on their planned exploit. Cas was silent. Upon seeing the wound on Charlie's arm, Gabriel gasped and pulled Charlie near. He spit into his handkerchief to clean his cut and chastised Dean for putting Charlie in danger.

"You're just getting it dirtier," Charlie groaned. "It's not even that bad. I just fell on something."

"No," Castiel corrected Charlie. "It made you fall on something."

"Oh, for cryin' out loud. You're scaring the kid." Dean glared at Castiel. He went on to summarize their experience with the closet and Charlie joined in with enthusiasm. Charlie wouldn't say it was a ghost, but he maintained that there was something in the closet that did not belong there.

"Whatever was in there, it was something...not natural," Charlie insisted.

Gabriel took up cursing at Dean and praying in various tongues because he didn't like the sound of anything he'd heard. The thought of being trapped in any closet, haunted or not, made him particularly perturbed. The Devil was real, Gabe said, and flirting with him was no light matter. It was best not to approach anything that was even remotely likely to be connected to the mysterious dark powers of the universe. Dean argued back. "Settle down, Gabe! Nothing bad happened. Charlie's a natural!"

"A natural at what?" Gabriel snapped.

"I don't know. Hunting! Er, ghosts. Ghost hunting," Dean replied, fully aware of how silly such a thing sounded. "He found the hat on his first try. He did good."

"Well, what do we do with it now?" Gabriel countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

Without missing a beat, Dean answered, "I say we burn it."

"Why?" Charlie and Gabe asked simultaneously and Dean shrugged.

He hadn't really reasoned it through, but he invented something after the fact. "Well…if it's attached to some kind of ghost or somethin', we should get rid of it. _Really_ rid of it."

Castiel leaned over the table. He hadn't been sure of the hat's existence at all, but now that he was looking at it, he agreed with Dean. "The hat could be the source of the disturbance. A source of evil. Fire does purify."

"Yeah, sure, Cas. But also, I just want to burn something," Dean grinned wide. He'd already retrieved his lighter and was flipping the top open and closed in anticipation.

"Hm, fair enough," Gabriel remarked. "All in favor of burning the ghost hat, say 'aye.'"

"Aye!" The vote was unanimous.

They took the hat out behind the library and Dean did the honors of setting it aflame. To the surprise of all of the men, the hat burned blue for a brilliant instant. It must have been covered in cleaning chemicals, they reasoned.

* * *

> … _and now she's dead, all because of me._

That was how Sam's latest letter ended. Sam had not signed it with his love or his name, although the letter had begun with 'Dear Dean' as his letters always did. The final line he had written was so important to Sam that he felt nothing should come after it.

After dealing with the strange ghost hat, Dean had believed the dead would be behind him for a while. But, later that day, Dean had found a letter from Sam on his bed, detailing the story of the specter that would now be haunting his brother. The letter had been written with messy, scrawled writing uncharacteristic of Dean's little brother. The sheets of paper Dean held in his hands were dirty and had recently been damp. Dean was gripping the final page tightly and a lone tear plopped down on the paper.

Dean had known this letter would be different because of the way it had been hastily addressed and written, but he had not expected to be so emotionally shattered by its contents. The correspondence contained the story of how the war had found a way to hurt Sam in an entirely new way. It was the story of the death of a woman. Not any woman, but a woman rare enough to be counted among the few of Sam's lovers.

Sam thought of himself as fiercely loyal to Jess. When she had begun to write him again, he had responded with excitement, love, and gratitude. The existence of his hometown sweetheart only made his tragic experience overseas all the more heartbreaking.

Sam wrote of a woman that had been brave, beautiful, and kind. She had stood outside of her house, baring a face of fortitude when she saw Sam and his fellow soldiers march into town. Refusing to hide again, she had been ready to die with honor because she was tired of the war. She was tired of being pushed around and scared. The day Sam had come into town had not been the first day soldiers had visited her home. Last time, they had taken everything she had.

Her name had been Madison Verdier. Her village had been shot up, burned, and bombed so many times that not a single structure was completely intact. She had been a lone woman, living in a graveyard of a civilization. Upon noticing that the soldiers approaching were Allies, she had changed her mood completely. Madison had offered the men places to stay and had cooked for them of her own volition. Her supplies had been meager, but she had been generous in the hopes that they would finish the fight that had dragged her spirit through the mud.

Sam had taken an overwhelming liking to her instantly. Her smooth, olive complexion, her large brown eyes, and her dark curls had been so stunning she had terrified him. Madison had won Sam over irrevocably without trying when she had shown him – _only_ him – the garden she protected. Tomatoes, she had said, were her favorite. The garden had been demolished before, she had told Sam, but she would replant it every time. She had piled rubble around it to protect it and she would look at it like it was the most perfect thing in the whole of the universe. Madison had allowed Sam to eat an entire tomato by himself and rationed the rest among the other men.

Sam hadn't been able to understand how a secretary had been able to survive longer than anyone within a thirty-mile radius. She had been filthy and alone, but not pitiful. When the other soldiers had shown interest in her, she laid a bold claim on Sam. Sam hadn't argued because he had understood that she trusted him, but he also had not mentioned Jess when she ushered him over to the place where she slept. He had not intended to sleep with her, but it had happened. For the first time since losing the company of his brother and closest friends, Sam had a truly personal reason to fight. He would have done anything for Madison because she deserved more than a few hidden vegetables among a city of ruins. She should have had many clean dresses instead of a single tattered one. She should have been able to go to bed at night without worrying about who might be watching or waiting to attack. She should have had a bed instead of a handful of sheets riddled with holes.

Sam thought he should have left her alone. If he had left her in her deserted town she could have lived, but he had promised to take her with him to protect her. He had intended to take her to a safer town with more people and supplies. Madison had wanted more than that. She had smiled and asked to be taken to America with Sam, but they didn't last a week together.

Before they reached the next safe town, they had fallen under attack. Sam had left Madison in a place where she would be sheltered from the bullets, but it was the explosion of a mortar that had sealed her face. Madison had died in a grotesque, undignified way, crushed by the stone building Sam had believed would shield her from enemy fire.

By the time Sam had reached her, all the life in her had been extinguished. He had remained by her side sobbing harder than he had cried for any other person among the long list of people he had already lost until he was forcibly removed. Then, Sam had refused to leave the city until he had dug her a proper grave. By the time he had finished digging, the soldiers decided to camp nearby. That was when Sam had sat down to write to Dean, his hands still caked in the dirt of Madison's fresh grave.

Dean felt his brother's pain from thousands of miles away. He carried it with him to breakfast the following day, to the library, and to the yard. He sat with his usual crew, trying to play a hand of poker without thinking of a flattened, beautiful French woman, but he couldn't.

"So, I went by the closet out of curiosity this morning…" Charlie said as he reorganized his poker hand. "And the light was on! There was somebody already in there, fixin' it up. Can you believe that? Dean, you said the light in there doesn't work."

Dean wasn't paying attention at all. He wasn't even properly guarding his cards. Castiel could see his entire hand.

"Dean?" Charlie asked. Gabriel made a sound of worry mixed with surprise when he caught sight of the awful hand Dean had been building. Dean was usually a much better player than that.

"Sam," Dean answered, unable to quite summarize everything he'd read and everything he was thinking and feeling on the subject.

"Oh! Did Sammy write?" Gabriel inquired, noticing that Dean didn't scold him for using his nickname for his brother.

"Yeah." Dean moved his cards around, thinking he shouldn't say anything further.

"Is he alright?" Castiel asked.

" _No_. When is Sammy ever 'alright'?" Dean threw his hand of cards down, giving up on the game. Everyone waited for Dean to elaborate. "He found a girl. A beautiful, wonderful French girl."

"But that's a good thing." Gabriel narrowed his eyes in confusion and then suddenly gasped, "But what about Jessica?" Gabriel was smitten with how smitten Sam and Jess were with each other. He had supported Sam from afar and even given him advice on the matter. Gabe was invested in the relationship between Sam and Jess.

"Well, there's hope for them yet," Dean said in a level tone. "The other girl got crushed to death from a mortar explosion."

Nobody said a word. After a few seconds of awkwardness, Dean got up and left the yard. Charlie was too disturbed to do anything other than stare at the dirt, but Gabriel exhaled a breath of horror. Quickly, he eyed Castiel because he thought that, ultimately, Dean was Cas' responsibility. Of course, Castiel hurried after Dean before he could get too far. He found Dean walking through the main complex. He didn't stop walking even when he realized Cas was by his side.

"Dean, where are you going?"

"I need to write to Sam."

"Dean, please. Wait," Cas begged. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder and the other man finally faced him. "I'm sorry."

"I should be there," Dean fumed. He was doing everything to try to not let the situation overwhelm him, but he erupted into a tirade. "He sat down to write to me after digging her grave! He has nobody over there. No one. It's not supposed to be like this! It is my _job_ to look after Sammy."

Dean could not handle being unable to protect his brother, whether it was to take care of Sam's physical or emotional state. He tried to explain the severe implications of Madison's death. "Sammy doesn't just sleep with girls, Cas. He _falls in love with them_."

Castiel didn't know what to say or if he should say anything at all. Dean was anxious and heartbroken on behalf of Sam. Dean was thinking of all the many things that were wrong with what had happened and what was wrong with the world. He had the furious, hopeless look in his eyes that Cas remembered having seen often when Dean had first arrived to the prison.

"We're cursed. Don't you think?" Dean rubbed the inside of his eye. Speaking feverishly now, he continued, "Dad lost mom. I lost Lisa. And now Sam. I never wanted Sam to know what it feels like. He shouldn't know. But he's like all of us. Dad never told us much about Grandpa, but he never said anything about a Grandma. She probably died just like the rest. Why do women die so easy? So bloody?"

Mom had bled to death doing something natural to a woman – giving birth. Lisa had faded into a pool of her own blood in the kitchen where she had never done anything but good things. Dean only knew Madison from a letter, but he had adored her for the few lines of pencil she had been allowed life. She had bled to death from the inside, like Mom.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel tells a story that inadvertently causes Cas to become jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit, y'all. I feel like such an asshole for not updating this in so long. Sorry! I've had major life events happen to me, but they've mostly been good things. I just have to work a lot more. If only I could get paid actual dollars to write fanfic! Alas! Btw, my beta also has a busy life, so basically almost everything you've read except a few chapters are self-edited. Whatever mistakes you see are solely mine. I'm sure there's plenty. I still know where I want to take this story, even if it scares me sometimes. Haha. I hope you like this chapter. Baby Jesus knows you've waited long enough for it.
> 
> It really makes me so happy to update this again, believe it or not. :)

_Why do women die so easy? So bloody?_

Cas wished he had every answer Dean sought. He wished that he could understand why good women like Mary died in the way that they did, but he couldn't think of a reason why God would design the female form to make giving birth so violent and potentially fatal. Cas didn't know why women like Lisa and Madison died as the result of becoming infatuated with unwittingly dangerous men. What Castiel knew or didn't know, didn't matter because he couldn't think of anything that might satisfy Dean. To tell Dean that the dead women were now likely residing in Heaven was insufficient. Such words of reassurance wouldn't comfort a man that thought Heaven was a fairy tale.

As Cas stood there drowning in his inadequacy as a consoler, the imagery of dead, bloodied women and mothers unexpectedly triggered him to remember a truth he could never completely bury. An onslaught of ghastly memories that he had labored for years to forget assailed his psyche, invoking his terror and revulsion. All at once, Castiel saw and felt the black and red flashes in his head like they were new again.

Focused on thinking about Sam, Dean did not notice anything unusual about his friend's wordless, frozen state. He ended their one-sided conversation when he saw that Cas had nothing to say. "I'm going to my cell."

Castiel was left alone, recollecting the sensation of standing in a pool of blood. Startled, he looked down at his feet and saw they were clean. Everything around him was silent and gray, without a hint of red. He was back in reality. Cas had suffered a brief, but complete shutdown. By the time he had overcome his paralyzing dread and confusion, Dean had been gone for a while.

"It's not just women that die easy," Cas spoke softly, joining the conversation several moments too late. Men, women, and every other animal or living thing on earth seemed to have been brought into the world to eventually die lonely, miserable, brutal deaths. Disorientated, Castiel took some time to be alone.

In his cell, Castiel paced. He reminded himself that his past was not important. He knew well that he could never achieve penance, but he was yet determined to be more than a murderer. Being able to bring Dean happiness mattered more than anything, and he saw himself failing. Cas couldn't allow his new purpose to be colored by anything that had occurred thirteen years ago or he would be distracted from the task of comforting Dean. He rushed over to Dean's cell, disciplining his face into a calm expression.

Dean was on his bed, staring down at a blank sheet of paper, a pencil in his hand. He was distraught, his handsome features drawn in concentrated angst. Everything about Castiel's demeanor softened upon witnessing Dean's unhappiness.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Holy – _Geez!_ " Dean sputtered, caught off guard. "Would ya cut that out? You're always, _always_ sneaking up on me."

Castiel looked around, unaware that his footfalls were that noiseless. He didn't know how else to approach Dean. "I'm sorry."

Dean waved his hand. "Come on in."

The Winchester made room for Cas on his bed and set his unwritten letter aside. He was sorrowful, but less agitated than he had been before. Even after having had time to think, Cas still didn't know what to say to make Dean feel better, so he offered practical assistance instead. "Do you need help writing?"

"Nah. This is something I should do alone," Dean replied.

"Oh." Cas fidgeted and Dean glanced away from him mournfully. He allowed a pregnant pause to fall between them. Dean finally spoke, revealing another secret layer of why Sam's problems caused him so much distress.

"I just… I always thought that I would be able to handle being here as long as Sammy was okay," Dean admitted. "If Sammy can be happy, I think that'd be enough for me."

Ignoring the suggestion that all of his love was not enough to make Dean happy, Cas reassured him. "He still can be. You've been watching all the same newsreels I have. It's all been good news. We are going to win."

Dean was nonetheless dissatisfied. Castiel frowned and said something he had been wanting to tell Dean for ages.

"You can't protect him from everything."

Dean took in a hefty, offended breath. He knew Castiel was telling the truth, but that didn't mean he would ever stop trying to do everything he could to keep Sam from feeling any kind of pain. Castiel eased closer and placed his hand over one of Dean's hands. "I know you try."

Dean's face reddened and he hesitated before gently turning over his hand to hold Castiel's hand. He caressed his thumb over the pale skin of the other man's hand, feeling adoration for Cas so severe he would have liked to kiss every square inch of his hand. Instead, he brought Castiel's hand to his cheek for a few quick seconds and intertwined their fingers together back over the bed. "We used to be attached at the hip. We spent almost every second of every day together for years. It still doesn't feel right to be away from him. Whether he scrapes his knee or has his heart broken, I'm supposed to be there."

"Sam will be fine," Castiel said suddenly and drew a look of surprise from Dean. Worried he had overstepped, Castiel stumbled to moderate his words. "I mean, probably. Maybe. Unless he isn't – "

"Cas!" Dean glared and pulled his hand away, leaving Cas flustered.

Castiel was just trying to be realistic, but he should have known better. "I'm sorry."

"You're not very good at this," Dean deadpanned, causing Castiel to squirm.

"I know," he answered, gazing up at Dean with pitiful, soulful blue eyes. Dean couldn't bring himself to be mad at Cas when he was wearing that face. Castiel may have been inept when it came to providing words of solace, but he was there and he cared. That counted for a lot in Dean's book.

_Sam's going to be fine._ In his nervous tick, Dean licked his lips. "Did you really mean that, or were you just saying that? You really think Sammy will be fine?"

"Well, he is a Winchester," Castiel replied with as much levity as he could afford. "I do. I don't know why, but I feel it."

Dean slumped into the wall and regarded Cas carefully. Hope was a dangerous thing, but he was grateful that Cas' honest opinion was a positive one. "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel made himself more comfortable on Dean's bed and leaned more closely into Dean's space. "So… What are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know. Maybe, 'Don't make attachments because they're not worth the heartache?'"

Dean's sardonic grin and words struck Cas deeply. "Is that what you really believe?"

"Yes," Dean answered without having to think about it. He couldn't count the number of times he had wished he had never married Lisa. She would be alive and Ben would have a mother if only he had remained alone. Being alone was safe for everyone. Now, the only exception he thought he could have was Sam. _And Cas_. Dean blinked. "Well, mostly. Family is family, and some people are just… worth it. But not usually."

"What happened to soldierly 'brotherhood?'" Cas teased, narrowing his eyes.

"That's different!" Dean argued. "You know what I'm trying to say. In some jobs, you just can't afford attachments. It'd be different if Sam was any good at being with girls without getting attached."

Castiel raised a brow. Without warning, Dean gripped the front of his shirt tightly. He gave Cas a long, hard look before drawing him into a firm kiss. There were a lot of things wrong about being in prison, but one thing Dean appreciated was that Cas was mandated to be in his company. He didn't know what he would do without him.

"Get out, Cas, and let me write this letter." Dean met his eyes with intensity. "We'll fuck later. _Talk!_ I-I mean talk! We'll _talk_ later."

Castiel was stunned and amused by his Freudian slip and the way Dean attempted to look cool after. "Okay." This time, Cas pulled Dean near and kissed his cheek. "If you need help, you know where to find me."

* * *

Dean spent hours writing to Sam and was still discontent with the final product. He hated his letter, but he sent it anyway because he had to be there for Sammy even if it was in the most inconsequential of ways. For days after hearing from Sam, Dean was edgier about the war. He kept his eyes and ears wide open, and got Gabriel to bring him the latest papers, which the other man did, free of charge. Waiting for the war to end felt like being caught under an enormous boulder that was slowly crushing every bit of joy out of life. At times Dean couldn't imagine a good outcome to it. Perhaps it was best that they hadn't watched newsreels in a long time.

The next time they watched a movie, it was a romance acted by glossy stars in fine attire, wearing bright smiles. The men were never shown horror movies because it was believed those kinds of films would adversely impact the population. The inmates didn't mind the romantic flicks because they always featured the most beautiful women, clad in diamonds and evening gowns like magnificent mythical creatures from another world.

Dean watched the movie unhappily because joyful love stories had so little to do with his life that he found them to be as unbelievable as the thought of Heaven. At least he could make fun of trashy novels. Movies were played seriously, like every man and every woman was fated to eventually find a 'better half.' Selling such a falsehood seemed criminal to Dean, and yet, he did feel a stirring of emotion at the predictable confession scene.

Castiel's mind wasn't on the movie. He was smoking and thinking about Dean, keeping most of his attention on the way Dean crossed his entire body as he sat still with his eyes glued to the screen. Dean's arms were crossed and his legs were folded like he was trying to rebuff every part of the fiction that unfolded before him. Dean watched as though the movie was only half of the story and he expected the lovely female protagonist to die a sudden death as soon as the credits rolled. Cas should have found it sad that Dean regarded love stories with so much cynicism, but he didn't. There was not a thing about Dean that he didn't find endearing, including the way he inwardly argued with Hollywood on the topic of love.

During the movie, Castiel pretended to be tired. He pretended to be tired just so he could stretch an exaggerated stretch. Rather than bringing both of his hands back to his sides, he allowed his left hand to perch on the back of Dean's chair. Cas smoked coolly as ever, inching his hand on the back of Dean's seat cautiously as time passed until his entire arm was draped around the back of his chair. Cas leaned back, waiting for Dean to face him with displeasure, but he didn't. When Dean reclined ever so slightly, Cas boldly let his arm settle over Dean's shoulders. Through the illumination of the silver screen, Castiel saw the subtle, upwards tilt of the corner of Dean's mouth.

Sitting in the back row as they always did, very few men had the opportunity to notice the way Dean and Cas continued to gravitate closer together as the movie progressed. Only the guard watching from behind really took notice. That guard felt certain he would either vomit or beat both inmates senseless if they so much as thought about kissing in front of him. Little did he know, Cas was _always_ thinking about kissing Dean when they watched movies, although he wouldn't ever take the risk. In the dark, they were happy enough without kisses.

"What did you think of the movie?" Cas asked Dean after they had vacated the building.

"Eh." Dean shrugged. "Could have used more leg."

Castiel smirked and chucked his cigarette away. He inclined his head. "You want to go for a walk?"

Walking with Cas was something so simple, but so satisfying to Dean. He would follow him anywhere, even in the cold and even if all the places they had to go were lackluster and monotonous. His mind still on the movie, Dean remarked as they walked, "I sure am glad you don't need so much singing and dancing to get laid in the real world."

"But you're a good singer." Castiel just about beamed, thinking back to the day Dean had wooed him with the guitar. _A really good singer._

"Yeah, well, but it's too much trouble." Dean was clearly thinking about the exact same memory with fondness. "Hey. What about you? I've never heard you sing."

"I don't sing," Cas answered firmly.

"C'mon…" Dean urged, in spite of the way Cas' skin crawled at the thought of singing. "I bet you're not bad. You've got a face that says, 'I can carry a tune.'"

Cas' face was an immovable stone. "I don't sing. I don't dance either. If you try to make me do either, we're going to have problems."

Dean chuckled. "Bull. You dance with Gabe. I've seen it."

Castiel's dancing with Gabriel could hardly have been called dancing. It would have been more accurately described as Gabriel manipulating and dragging Cas' timid, unwilling body around the yard. Cas felt humiliated just thinking about it.

"You're awful cute sometimes," Dean declared. "Even if you'd rather dance with that heel, Gabe, instead of me."

In a swift movement, Castiel grabbed Dean's hand and drew him close. He placed his other hand on Dean's waist and did his best impersonation of a dance, twirling around with Dean once. They continued to move in a glacially paced, intimate waltz in the darkness without music. The only sounds were of Dean's amused exhalations and of their well-worn shoes on the gravel. Castiel held Dean close enough to hide his face near his neck. Still holding Dean, Cas grumbled, "Satisfied?"

Dean knew Castiel was just trying to tick off the 'Dancing with Dean' box so he would never have to be asked again. To increase his suffering (or pleasure), Dean tried to make the moment linger. There would never be a time when they could dance together with a band out in public, so now was as good a time as any to experience what it could be like.

"You've got your hand too high…" Dean breathed and inched nearer to the other man comfortably. Cas lowered his hand down the small of Dean's back and Dean repositioned their hands so that their fingers were interlaced. Castiel was so warm and nowhere near as stiff as he normally was whenever Gabriel forced him into a dance. As much as Cas claimed to dislike dancing, he wasn't eager to move away and he felt a thrill of energy blaze through his skin wherever they touched.

_It's not so bad with you._

Pleased, Dean pressed forward and nudged Castiel until he brought their lips together. "Now you just owe me a song."

"Over my dead body," Cas responded. He kissed Dean repeatedly, his hand now snugly claiming the other man. "You said it yourself, Dean. Singing and dancing aren't requirements to get laid."

"You're lucky you're a damn good kisser."

Cas' tongue teased Dean's lower lip. "Luck has nothing to do with it."

When Cas was frisky and sure of himself, Dean couldn't resist stealing as many kisses from him as possible. Castiel led Dean in a half-dancelike movement to a tree. There, he pinned Dean's body secure with his own and kissed him freely. The night was dark enough for their figures to be concealed and cold enough for their lusty breaths to be visible in the air. One of Castiel's arms slipped between Dean's war torn shoulder and the tree to seal the space between them as they shared fervent kisses.

Dean dragged his fingers through Castiel's hair, feeling his heart leaping in his chest as Cas began to grind their hips together. _When did it get like this?_ Dean wondered, heady. Cas kissed the freckles over Dean's cheek and paused to regard him with dark eyes that reflected the tint of the starry firmament overhead.

"What would you like me to sing to you?" Cas whispered.

Gasping, Dean seemed to have forgotten every song he had ever known. "Forget the singing," he rasped before gripping Cas into another kiss.

* * *

When Dean was again in the mood to race, Gabriel knew the bulk of the Winchester's worries had waned for the time being because Dean could only endure Gabriel's taunts and losing to him when he was in an improved state of mind. Running was Gabriel's sport. Cas and Dean were monstrously strong, but Gabe was faster than almost anyone. Yet, the next afternoon in the yard, Dean was out running him. Frustration and beads of sweat covered Gabriel's brow as he tried to catch up to Dean. Then, abruptly, there was a yelp of pain and a rustle of gravel that drew Castiel's attention.

"I win!" Gabriel hollered victoriously, thrusting his arms into the air and grinning like a champion.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean spat gravel from his unhappy position on the ground. "You tripped me!"

"What? _Me?_ " Gabriel huffed, his smile brightening. "No, Dean-o. You're just so clumsy."

"I didn't even see it and I know what happened," Charlie mumbled to Cas from the bleachers, never lifting his nose from his book. Sitting next to the young man wrapped up in the scarf and gloves he'd made himself, Cas seethed in Gabriel's direction. The thin line of blood trickling down Dean's forearm that Cas spotted caused his entire body to tense. He had seen the entire thing, including Gabriel's treacherous, swift foot. The cigarette in Cas' hand snapped in two.

"You fucking little – Hey!" Dean brushed himself off and made his way over to the fiend that was now casually ignoring him. "Pay attention when I'm talking to you!"

"Did you see that, Uriel?" Gabriel addressed his favorite guard who was nearby. "I beat Dean again. What's the score now? 120 races to zero? It's at least 120."

"Mmhmm." Uriel smirked in reply, mostly keeping his eyes on his newspaper. Uriel didn't often wander the yard during rec time, but today he was among the men, evidently in an amused attitude because he made a sound of pleasure kindled by whatever he was reading.

"What you reading there, amigo?" Gabriel had just caught his breath from their race when a pair of rough hands grabbed his shirt.

"What gives? Trippin' me like that?! What are you, a little punk kid?" Dean shook Gabe, wincing because his arm hurt from his crash. In response, Gabriel laughed, which was more aggravating than the pain he felt because Gabriel laughed at everything, especially his pain. Dean's anger was a constant punch line perceivable to only Gabriel.

"Very funny, Dean. I don't need to trip you to win."

"Yes, you do! You just did!"

"Watch the manhandling. This is my best shirt," Gabriel complained, but Dean didn't let him go. "Hm, I guess you've got to make excuses when you've got two left feet, but you should know better than to think I would ever hurt you."

Dean growled and just as he was about to impart some damage onto his shorter companion, Uriel's nightstick nudged the pair apart.

"No fighting," Uriel commanded, whacking Dean instead of Gabriel. Unluckily, Uriel was also usually delighted by Dean's suffering, but he was too engrossed in his newspaper article to put much force at all into his strike at Dean. Again came another sound of delight from the guard.

"Really, what _are_ you reading?" Gabriel faced Uriel, the irked Winchester completely forgotten. Whatever was in that paper took priority to Gabe.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Uriel teased.

"Yes!" Gabriel grabbed at the paper, but it slipped through his fingers as Uriel stepped back to finish reading.

"Funny things, huh?" Their jailer smiled wide.

"What's funny? What things? What'dya mean?"

By now, Dean realized he would have to get revenge later, so he took time to pick bits of gravel out of the wound on his arm and tried to listen to whatever was going on between Uriel and Gabe. He was put off and still tasting an unpleasant powdery residue in his mouth, but he couldn't very well pound Gabriel into submission with a guard watching, especially when that guard was Uriel.

"So, you're a big shot after all," Uriel remarked and Gabriel's eyes went wide.

"You were… no," Gabriel shook his head and muttered, "You couldn't have been reading about me."

At the sight of the desperation and worry on Gabriel's face, Uriel's laughter rang through the yard. "Maybe. You know any pretty little jazz singers?"

"Sure. I know lots," Gabriel managed in as arrogant a tone as he could muster, unsure of what Uriel was playing at. He brushed his long, sweaty hair out of his face and crossed his arms, waiting for Uriel to get to the point.

"Anna Milton?"

The mention of the name was like a spell that painted Gabriel's face red and transformed him into a twitchy ball of rage.

"Anna Milton?" Dean cut in, "Why does that sound so familiar? Oh, shit! The tasty redhead Anna Milton? Famous Anna Milton – the singer?"

"'Tasty,' my ass! ' _Famous!_ '" Gabriel scoffed and tore the newspaper away from Uriel to read whatever it was that involved him and Anna. Uriel left Gabriel pacing furiously, skimming the lines, and re-reading the short article twice before shouting, " _'He's got some talent_ ,' she says!"

"This is better than knocking him out," Dean grinned at Cas and took a spot next to him on the bench so they could be spectators of Gabriel's bizarre anger. Castiel had lit a fresh cig and he passed it over to Dean the second he was close, noting the way Dean's skin had flushed from the exertion of racing Gabriel. The blue-eyed male resisted the urge to wipe away the smeared blood covering Dean's arm with effort.

"Thanks, sweetheart," the Winchester said softly with a gleaming smile. Dirty and bloodied as he was, Dean felt restful sitting next to Cas. Dean took a drag as Gabriel cursed Anna the way Dean had never seen him curse a lady before. "I love this. I don't know what's happening, but I love it."

"' _It's such a pity he's in jail_ ,'" Gabriel read in a mocking, snobbish feminine voice before plopping down on the ground in front of his friends like a fussy child. He mumbled, " _'good singer._ ' Pfft."

"How do you know Anna Milton?" Charlie asked, "Why are you so angry if she's saying nice things about you? She is talking about you, isn't she?"

"He doesn't know her," Dean said, just to prod Gabriel's ego. "She's too classy a dame to be around this chump."

Dean had found the way to jam an icepick into Gabe's heart because the man on the ground froze and his face fell. Gabriel did know Anna, but he wished he didn't. He also wished Dean had never written good PR for him because she had somehow gotten word of the marvelous inmate and how good his singing was. His name had come up in a conversation with a reporter and her comments on Gabriel had been published because everything that came from her golden lips was considered worthy of attention. Anna had offered him some compliments that Gabriel knew were nothing but mockery. He could imagine her sitting in a club with a cocktail, wearing white furs and tapping her long cigarette holder into the ashtray as she spoke pleasant lies.

"Classy? Sure, she's classy. As classy as she is heartless," Gabriel said, at last. "You don't believe me, fine, but I knew her on the outside. A long time ago."

At this, Charlie put down his book and leaned forward. "She still remembers you from that long ago?"

"What can I say? I'm unforgettable," Gabriel smirked and threw the paper behind his shoulder like he no longer cared. When Dean scrambled forward to retrieve it, Gabriel tried to stop him.

"Hey, stop it!" Dean hissed. "Shut up, I'm going to read what she said. You're going to rip it!"

"Aw, there's a picture…" Dean swooned and stared at the printed photo of the gorgeous woman with long curls over her shoulder. She had a sparkling hairpiece over her ear and a string of pearls around her neck. Dean showed Cas the picture and the man shrugged in return.

"Never heard of her." Castiel was interested in Gabe's story, but not very pleased by the way Dean's eyes lit up at the photo of the singer. Dean wasn't reading the article at all.

"Back in the day, I used to see her at clubs. She was a kid," Gabriel explained. To him, she didn't look like she had aged a day. Her immortal beauty only made him more frustrated. "We had the same taste in music… the same taste in drinks. And boy, did she like to dance. Long legged… All smiles, all the time."

Dean licked his lips, hungry for more. "What was she like?"

"Oh, you know." Gabriel inhaled deeply. Partying with Anna felt like a lifetime ago. "A real bitch."

"Hey! You watch your mouth! Don't talk about Anna like that," Dean chided.

"Really, Gabe," Charlie frowned, likewise offended. "She seems like a swell gal. Pretty as a picture."

"Yeah, that's what she would want you to think." Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest.

" _Oh_ …" Dean gave Gabe a knowing glance. "This is because she wouldn't fuck you, isn't it?"

"No! _No._ That's not why!" Gabriel's blush deepened. He hated thinking about this story, but loved the attention he was getting from his friends, so he decided to set them straight. "Truth is we did a few gigs together before she went big time."

"Nah." Dean smiled and idly passed the cig back to Cas. Castiel killed the cigarette in record time.

Gabriel remembered the first time he had ever seen Anna sing. So sweet and dangerous all at once, she had sung framed by the blue curtains of a smoky speakeasy. "First time I saw her sing she had on this sleek silver dress," Gabriel mused nostalgically. "She had a voice like an angel and a face like one too. Soft white skin, perfect hazel eyes. The reddest hair you'll ever see."

Charlie wasn't quite sure what Gabriel meant by that. He picked at his own hair, wondering how red his hair was in comparison. Gabriel had once told Charlie he had the reddest hair, but now his mind was too far away to pay Charlie any mind.

"She sang Annette Hanshaw. 'Nobody Cares If I'm Blue' was the song, and you can bet all the fellas listening cared when she sang it. They were all half in love with her after her first song." Gabriel took a pause to light a cigarette because being so genuine made him anxious. "She had something special."

"And how!" Dean interjected. He kept looking back at the picture, wishing it was as colorful as Gabriel's memories.

"The only reason she was even there was because _I_ invited her. I didn't expect her to be so good. Probably my best performance ever was with her. We were a natural team," Gabriel confessed. They had done a number of lively and romantic duets together. He had had the time of his life with her, and had believed that they truly did have the world on a string. Gabriel had planned to watch over her, hoping she would do the same for him. "I got to thinking we should stay together," Gabriel said and then quickly amended his statement, "…as an _act!_ "

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Dean feigned concern, keen for him to move on to the part where Anna broke his heart.

"She said no," Castiel guessed.

"She didn't just say no. She said…" Gabriel could remember exactly the way she had looked and exactly how she had sounded when she had replied to him. " _'Oh, honey_ , no. No. I'm going straight to the top and I don't need any dead weight like you to slow me down.'"

The trio around Gabriel sat in silence as if expecting more, but Gabriel didn't elaborate. "That's it?" Dean questioned. "That's what has you so worked up?"

"You don't get it," Gabriel fidgeted, struggling to clarify. "None of it meant anything to her. All of her light and energy was fake. I knew right then that she didn't have any real love for it. She was a woman that had never loved at all and maybe never could."

Dean made a sharp sound of disbelief and Gabriel insisted, "She had only used me to get to the venues because I was that guy that knew people. She wanted fame, power, and nothing else. She's hardhearted, and that _matters_. A great singer sings from the heart – she doesn't fake it."

"Uh-huh." Dean grinned.

"It's scary, I tell ya. Nobody should be that good at faking it."

At this statement, Charlie chortled.

"You can laugh all you want!" Gabriel spat. "But she's a two-faced phony!"

"But… isn't fame and power all you want?" Charlie added softly, managing to ruffle Gabriel's feathers even more.

"Sounds to me like maybe she was just smart," Dean commented, scratching behind his ear. "She did make it to the top… maybe not the top of the top, but she's there, while…"

"While I'm here." Gabriel got up and threw his cigarette on the ground. He got in two mumbled statements about 'devil women' and how no person should ever trust a redhead before sulking away in a pitiful state, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"I'm sitting right here!" Charlie whined after Gabriel's retreating form and then he moaned to Cas and Dean, "Why does he have to pick on redheads?"

"Ah, don't worry about it." Dean waved his hand. "He's just making a scene. By tomorrow he'll forget all this happened."

Charlie decided to head inside because rec time was drawing to a close and he was too cold. Dean folded the newspaper neatly and kept it tucked safely under his arm. Castiel took notice. "You're keeping that?"

"Yeah, why not? It gave me a laugh."

Castiel hesitated. "For the article?"

"For the article, sure," Dean shrugged, but his face was mischievous.

"Not for Anna's picture?"

"Well…" Dean looked away, full of secretive mirth. "…and maybe to give Bets some company. She gets lonely on my wall." The way Castiel became grave caused Dean to prickle up with glee. "Wait, you're not jealous, are you?"

Castiel replied with a bold-faced lie, "I don't care who you jerk off to."

"Really?" Dean leaned in close, too close for just friends. He watched Cas carefully, amazed that Cas bothered to get jealous at all. Dean had never witnessed Castiel with this particular emotion and he cherished it because it was a little bit sweet. "What if I promise to include you in all of my fantasies?"

Castiel was silent, but Dean pressed on. "You, me, the Great Anna. Of course I would be fucking her, but you would be fucking me at the same time. It would be the best of both worlds."

"Maybe for you." Castiel swallowed, affected by Dean's low, sensual words. "I'm not into redheads."

"I know. I just said _I_ would be. You would just have to worry about being into me." Dean winked and gave Castiel a light smack on his shoulder with the rolled up paper. Soon, Dean left a flustered Castiel behind to saunter to his cell to fix Anna's picture to his wall.

Later that evening, Castiel dove into his bed, disgruntled that Dean had noticed his envy. The sensation of jealously felt completely novel to Cas. He wasn't sure if he could remember the last time he'd ever experienced it. It was thorny, ugly, and made him feel small.

He wasn't supposed to feel jealous over Dean. No matter what the rest of the prison population believed, Castiel didn't own Dean and didn't have sole rights to him. He was certain he didn't deserve such a pleasure either. Regardless of the lovely things Dean said and did, Cas knew well that he would have been sidelined for someone like Anna if that had been an option for Dean. Apart from Betty and her glorious legs, Anna was the only female for which Dean had expressed open lust and interest.

As ridiculous as it was, Cas started to feel something similar to loathing for her, much like Gabriel's hatred. He couldn't care less if she truly was manipulative and duplicitous as Gabriel suggested. He only cared that Dean bothered to appreciate her when he rarely ever spoke of women to him at all. The man who was haunted by having murdered his own wife found something special in Anna that was worth breaking his apparent disinterest in women. Cas' eyes were narrowed and angry when his fingers felt over something beneath his pillow. Curiously, Castiel retrieved a small rectangle of paper.

> _Think about me. - D.W._

_Think about you?_ Castiel blinked and thumbed over Dean's handwriting. Clearly, the Winchester had stolen away into his cell with the express purpose of causing him agony. _I always think about you._

Castiel sunk his face into his pillow, closing his eyes. The nightly count had adjourned long ago and the night had fallen, cold and quiet. He thought about being _into_ Dean as Dean had suggested he should, and was pained by how easily his mind slipped exactly where Dean wanted it to go. Redheads weren't cruel. Fuckable, aggravating Winchesters were cruel. Lovable, freckled, frustrating muscled soldiers with messy handwriting and delectable, flawless asses that conjured up impure thoughts kept Castiel awake for longer than he would ever care to admit.

* * *

The next morning over breakfast, Dean was self-assured and contented like he was feasting at a highly rated bed and breakfast instead of the grimy old mess hall full of surly men. Death sipped his coffee, wishing he had a morning newspaper to distract him from whatever was going on between the lovers now. Gabriel didn't feel like talking and Charlie seemed indignant about something so Death sighed and resigned himself to putting up with another strange morning filled with unspoken love and lust.

When the afternoon was well on its merry way, Castiel found a moment to creep into Dean's space. He slipped behind him in the library, pressing his lips to the tiny area behind Dean's ear. "I got your note," Cas whispered.

"Gee, how about that?" Dean felt a hard-on brushing against him just before Castiel's fingers slid over the front waistband of his pants. Soft sucks at his neck caused Dean to tremble, and he did not protest when Castiel's hand plunged into his pants. Cas' lips brushed over the short hair at the nape of Dean's neck.

"I take it you thought about me?" Dean breathed, rapidly losing his cool.

"Yes," Castiel purred. "But nothing could be better than the real thing."

" _Cas_ ," Dean hissed, leaning into the shelf as Castiel's warm hand stroked his length with steady, devoted movements. Nobody was in the library at the moment, but Dean still worried. He didn't worry enough to make Castiel stop. The fingers that teased their way into his mouth stifled his would-be moans. Dean sucked and dragged his teeth over Castiel's fingers, excited to feel Cas' erection pressed to his body again.

"I only ever think about you," Castiel admitted in a quiet tone. "Every day."

Dean closed his eyes and imagined Castiel alone in his cell fucking himself to dreams of him. Castiel was wholly unashamed of making his desire clear, not minding the threat of someone else entering. Castiel's fingers only retreated from his mouth to undo the buttons on Dean's shirt and to feel the taut skin of his chest. He spoke gruffly, never ceasing his strokes with his other hand. "Would you ride me, Dean?"

Dean nodded so quickly he surprised himself. He was ready to climb onto Castiel on the nearest desk. He felt his body burning and feared, for a moment, that Castiel would have him come over the books before him. It was a funny thing to fret about sullying the books Castiel adored even as he was ignited with lust. Then, Castiel stopped his caresses and Dean groaned complaints.

"Come 'ere."

The one day Dean thought he would have gladly broken his rules for Castiel, the other man was careful to drag Dean away into the privacy of the library storage room. He tossed Dean onto the table they kept for such occasions and used his mouth to finish the job his hand had begun. The impact onto the hard table was rough on his back, but, before long, Dean was swooning faintly as a heated tongue licked him to completion. He felt soft, messy bites over his pelvis and excited breaths against his thighs. When Dean eventually slid into Cas' lap, shuddering with satisfaction, Cas pressed his adoring mouth to his jaw.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The warden asks Dean a favor and Dean shares his spoils with Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've returned! Hoorah! Happy full moon, my darling readers. :D

 

February of 1945 brought with it a series of snowstorms and power outages. Many of those February mornings greeted the inmates with a light covering of snow. At a glance, it was beautiful and pure, but the men had come to associate the snow with death. Failures within the old buildings and a lack of supplies worsened the harshness of the winter. Two weeks into February had claimed two men, including one of the eldest prisoners.

Doc Benton had been in prison longer than Dean had been alive. After twenty-nine years of solace at the penitentiary, the old man had curled up in a hallway to never again get back up. His haggard face had been forgotten until the day of his death, and, even then, he had not been mourned. The second February death at the prison was not directly related to the chill, but did add to the general bleakness of it. A young man imprisoned for patricide had decided that February was as good a month as any to walk off a ledge. The guards had no idea how Max Miller had climbed so high on slippery, frosty pipes. For the next handful of days, no matter how hard they tried to erase it, the ice preserved the stain of his fall.

Dean drank his coffee quickly each morning, hoping to burn his insides for the rest of the day. He felt frozen stiff as he carried on his duties because all of their furnaces were suffering from the storms and the technical issues that had been prompted by them. The hardships of winter became so dire that, finally, Cas and Dean didn't go to the library at all. Sickness was traveling through the prison at a disheartening rate. The flu and pneumonia were invisible stands that kept the men quiet and apart.

Despite the ambiance of infirmity, Dean was unafraid of dragging himself through the icy halls because he knew there would be something warm and worthwhile at his destination. Wrapped in his only blanket, the Winchester walked slowly to the cell that housed Castiel. Castiel's mouth never smiled as much as his eyes, but Dean had come to appreciate that his eyes spoke volumes. The joy in them now was as crisp and pure as the snowflakes falling outside around them. Cas' blues followed Dean as he entered his cell and began to pace to keep his muscles active and hopefully warmer.

"It's cold as _fuck_ ," Dean complained and Castiel hurriedly shifted to make room for Dean on his bed.

"I've got a blanket. And you've got a blanket," Dean reasoned, teeth chattering ever so slightly, "So… If we share, it'll be like we've both got two blankets."

"Basic arithmetic. Very good, Dean."

Dean was too cold and tired to come up with a snappy comeback. He simply harrumphed and crashed onto Cas' bed, throwing his blanket over both their bodies. "Well, you're the picture of health, aren't you?"

"I'm likewise glad to see you're not infected," Castiel commented as he drew Dean near. It took some work to pry his blanket out from under Dean's leg, but soon, Castiel had neatly piled his own wooly blanket over Dean's. Dean gave a euphoric sigh that was like music to Castiel's ears. The addition of the blanket wasn't as noticeable to Dean as the addition of Castiel's wondrous body. He radiated goodness and comfort like a space heater.

"They ought to let us sleep together," Dean mused out loud. The temperatures plummeted at night. It had gotten so severe that Dean could barely sleep at all. Each night, his scarred shoulder throbbed in agony until pain exhausted him into a poor excuse for rest. "There's plenty of room in here for both of us."

"I know," Castiel lamented. His cheek pressed to Dean's forehead and he rubbed his hands over Dean's arms, hoping to massage more life into his body. Cas was met with another comforted sigh. In a matter-of-fact tone, Castiel said, "Someone else died."

Dean raised a brow. "Anyone we like?"

Cas shrugged. "Don?"

"Wow. Really?" Dean glanced over to Cas. He felt slightly guilty that he hadn't learned of the death of his own neighbor until that moment. "That's a surprise. He always seemed like a sturdy fella. Healthy enough. Old Benton didn't surprise me at all. He was a dead man walking for a while. What was he? A hundred years old?"

"Something like that," Cas replied.

"How did Donny die?"

"He got sick," Castiel explained. "I presume he never got better."

"Well, rest in peace, Don." Dean sniffled as he made the sign of the cross over his chest. He was a little bit jealous of the handsome, so-called witch because he was probably now in a place that wasn't so damn cold. Don could no longer feel hunger and he no longer had to stare at the colorless walls that surrounded them at every turn.

"I was worried about you. I thought you would catch it from him since he was so close to your cell." Castiel continued to strum his fingers over Dean in soothing movements. He had missed Dean. Since they were on a hiatus from working at the library, he felt he didn't get to see the Winchester enough.

"I didn't, but that won't matter if I end up freezing to death."

"I know one way we can warm up," Castiel whispered to Dean's ear.

"Yeah?" Dean's lips curved pleasantly upwards. "How's that? With smokes?"

"With sex," Castiel murmured, his fingers unknowingly grazing over three miniscule, circular scars on the right side of Dean's torso. When Dean shivered, Castiel thought it was because of the cold, but it was those barely visible scars that caused an uneasy shudder to travel through his nerves. They were the physical remnants of the day Miggs had once forced three crudely fashioned hooks into Dean's flesh just for fun. Dean's mind wasn't focused on the pain and humiliation of that day, but his body remembered. No matter how much Dean loved the owner of the gentle fingers upon him now, his desire disintegrated when Cas stroked the faint scars that were attached to such dark memories.

That February was the anniversary of many unspoken, horrific secrets that bubbled just under Dean's surface against his will. When Castiel placed a tender kiss over his lips, Dean didn't respond, but he didn't push Cas away because he was so hot and affectionate. Unwittingly, Dean shrank away from Castiel.

"What's wrong?" Cas breathed softly to the Winchester's freckled cheek.

"Nothing." Yet, Dean trembled. "I'm just tired. Cold."

"You haven't been sleeping, have you?"

Dean shook his head. "Not really. Only enough to have bad dreams."

These days when he slept, Dean dreamt of a black-eyed Lisa stabbing his shoulder. Sometimes, he dreamt of his entire right arm being amputated at the joint. Ruby would occasionally be the one inflicting pain to his war wound in his dreams, and then he would break his left wrist again and again. Dean's worst shoulder-related dream was when he dreamt of the Nazi bullet passing through his shoulder and into Sam. When Dean dreamt of not having saved Sam, Dean woke up hurting more in his heart than in his groaning muscles and bones. Castiel was completely unaware of the details of any of Dean's nightmares as he traced warm love into Dean's body with his hands.

When Dean hissed with pain, Cas stopped. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." Dean swallowed and corrected himself. "…yes. It's not a big deal. It's just the damn shoulder."

Castiel carefully peeled away some of Dean's clothing to inspect his right shoulder. It was clearly inflamed, but there was no way of telling the damage inside.

"I'm not going to see the doctor, so don't even ask."

"I wasn't going to ask." Castiel might have asked if he thought Dean would go, but he knew better.

"Good. 'Cause it's fine. Once it stops being so fucking cold, I'll be good as new."

"Do you want a smoke?" Cas asked, hoping there was something he could do to help. He had little else to offer other than sex and cigarettes. Despite the potential heat, Dean declined because it would mean Cas would have to get up and Dean enjoyed having him near.

"You're warm," Dean muttered, leaning into Cas and closing his eyes.

"You can sleep here as long as you like," Castiel offered with a kiss to Dean's temple.

"Thanks, Cas, but I think I'll stay awake." As exhausted and sleep deprived as he was, he got too much satisfaction from being awake in Cas' presence to sleep just then. "I want to stay awake."

"I'm glad you came to visit," Cas said. Green flashed up to Castiel's face, chased by a grin. Dean gently nuzzled Cas' stubbly cheek and sunk his hand beneath Castiel's shirt. Cas responded by encircling his arm firmly around Dean's waist. "Is there anything that helps your shoulder?"

"I'm sure some scotch would help. Whiskey. Tequila."

Castiel rephrased his question. "Anything we have here?"

"No, sir."

Seconds of disappointment filled the air. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"How did it feel when you got shot?" Castiel hesitated when he asked, aware of his friend's reticence on the subject of the war. He had always wondered, just as he wondered about everything else about Dean – from his unexplained scars to his nightmares.

Dean's lips parted in thought. He wasn't sure if anyone had ever asked him that question before. He had to remember and think about how to describe it. "Hm, actually, I didn't even notice it at first." Dean pursed his lips. "I thought the bullet had missed both of us – me 'n Sammy – but then, suddenly, it burned. It just burned something awful."

Castiel, more conscious of Dean's shoulder than ever, did everything he could to avoid aggravating the wound and to make sure Dean was as comfortable as possible.

"It felt like I was on fire. I was fucking paralyzed… and then it started to _really_ hurt," Dean explained. So much of what had occurred that day existed only in flashes of terror in his mind. Full of never-ending pain, that day had been one of the longest days of his life. "I don't know how to describe it, Cas. I didn't have drugs for a long time, so I kept passing out. The only thing that helped was that I had my mind on other things."

"What things?"

"Sammy. I was more afraid of what had happened to him than what was happening to me. I kept worryin' he'd gotten shot too even though he was with me almost the whole time. But, yeah, I guess I'd say it felt awful. It felt like what might happen if fireworks exploded from inside your body – without all the pretty lights."

Castiel nodded. After a moment of contemplation, Dean asked, "Why'd you wanna know?"

"I've been stabbed," Cas tilted his head to the side, "Many times. I've been beaten, but I've yet to be shot."

There was a cackle of disbelief before Dean bust into a full laugh. The way Castiel spoke with his uniquely nonchalant expressions never ceased to amuse Dean. To Dean, it sounded as though Cas was comparing being shot to trying a new flavor of ice cream. "I wouldn't recommend it," Dean said. "Don't you ever get shot, ya hear me?"

"I'll do my best," Cas responded. The only heat he wished to continue feeling was that of Dean's company.

"Hey, tough guy. What's all this about you gettin' stabbed 'many times' anyhow? Who did the stabbin'? Who do I have to rough up for you?" Dean winked.

Castiel's face began to redden as Dean's hands grew restless over his muscles, checking for his old knife wounds. He was about to answer when Gabriel stormed in, his frigid voice ringing in the cell, astonishing Dean and Cas. "I'm coming in there with you. You gotta share blankets. It's too damn cold!"

Gabriel was wrapped in at least three blankets, which was more than any other man got, but he was suffering immensely. Castiel gasped at the sight of the intruder and tried to push Dean's hands away to avoid an embarrassment.

"Get out!" Dean snarled. This was about the umpteenth time Gabriel had stepped in and ruined one of his happy moods with Cas. The skinny, loud-mouthed inmate just couldn't let them be.

"There's not enough room here for you," Castiel stated, knowing full well it was a lie.

"Dean, please. Be a pal. I'll let you borrow some of my blankets for no more than thirty minutes if you let me borrow Cas' hot body."

"What?" Dean snapped. Gabriel made it sound like Dean was the landlord of Castiel's body and there was space for rent.

"Nevermind. Move over!" Gabriel commanded, but Dean wouldn't budge. Without waiting for Castiel to agree to anything, Gabe wormed his way to Cas' side and combined his many blankets with the two the other men already had. Gabriel breathed an air of relief. "You're the best, you know that? Both of you."

"How can you be cold when you have three blankets?" Castiel asked Gabriel.

"Blankets got nothin' on body heat. It's a fact," Gabriel responded. "Mmmm, _body heat_."

"Where's Charlie?" Dean asked. "Why don't you use him for body heat?"

"Last I saw, he was talking to the warden. The furnaces need new parts, and we better get them soon, or you'll be diggin' me a grave." Gabriel's arm had laced around Castiel's abdomen. When his hand brushed into Dean's, he tried to smack Dean away, but ultimately lost that battle. Resigned, they both decided to share Castiel. In the middle, the unshaven man felt oddly at peace considering his two friends were using him as a heating implement in a very intimate way.

"My dad was just like you," Gabriel said to Cas with a yawn. "He never got cold. Wore short pants in the winter time."

Silence passed over the trio. When Dean poked his head around to look at Gabriel, he saw the man was fast asleep. "He just fell asleep on you."

"I know."

"So much for thirty minutes." Dean fidgeted. "Well. I'm not okay with this. He's touching me."

"Not as much as he's touching me," Castiel exhaled.

"When he wakes up, I'm going to cut a deal with him. He owes me for this."

"How so?"

"He's using your body!" Dean complained. "That's not okay."

"Are you saying he owes _you_ something?" Castiel frowned. "…for the use of _my_ body for warmth?"

"Yeah! That's what I'm sayin'!"

"I think you're missing the point, Dean."

"No, I'm not. 'Cause your body is mine."

Castiel did not disagree. Instead, he pulled Dean more closely to him and kissed his cheek. His lips were a brand of comfort. "Does that mean your body is mine?" Castiel countered.

"As long as you want it to be."

"I'll pay you back," Gabriel groaned softly, in a daze. "Just don't fuck 'till I'm gone." Wide-eyed, Dean's attention shifted to Gabe. Gabriel was back asleep like he had never momentarily awakened.

* * *

Gabriel repaid favors in ways that were not always conventional. When the penitentiary received its much longed for supplies, Charlie was put in charge of a small crew to make the vital repairs to the facility. In all the excitement to have heat again, Dean forgot about Gabriel's promise. The day Dean saw the warden in his cell he had no earthy idea that his visit was a part of Gabriel's payment.

It was after rec time that Dean had walked to his cell only to see that all of his belongings had been thrown recklessly around his room with absolute disregard. _An inspection._ All the men feared surprise inspections for contraband items, because what little the inmates had, they would die to keep. Being caught with anything that was considered contraband could also result in a heavy punishment, depending on the item discovered.

_Sammy's letters._

Dean's blood rushed with anxiety as he worried that Sam's letters had been destroyed or confiscated in the process of turning his room over. Nothing was holy or private if the words shared between bothers could be so easily forced out into the open to the unworthy eyes of strangers.

"Dean," Zachariah tilted his head to the Winchester in greeting. As always, his eyes were hooded with world-weariness and disdain.

"Warden," Dean nodded back, noting that the older man was flanked by some of his lackeys. He kept his gaze averted from the hole in the wall that hid Sam's fears, hopes, and love.

"You keep a nice clean room… apart from the pornography."

_Shit, shit! He found the mag!_

Instead of revealing the pin-up girls sent to him by Bobby, Zachariah bared Dean's beloved picture of Betty that he had removed from the prisoner's wall. Dean wasn't comforted that it wasn't his magazine that the warden had found. He was more incensed that Zachariah was touching _his_ wartime heroine and that he had creased an edge. Dean had many things to say, but he controlled himself to the best of his abilities. "That's not pornography," He gritted out. "That's Betty Grable. The actress."

"All I see here is an inappropriately dressed young woman. This hardly seems like something you should have on your wall."

Dean's eyes darted to the thick, wordless sentry to Zachariah's right. Dean was fuming, but also worried about what it could possibly mean for the warden to come to his cell, guarded. "With all due respect, sir, if you think _that's_ porn… you haven't seen porn."

In response to Dean's cheeky rejoinder, the warden clenched his hand as if he intended to crumple Betty into a sad wad. Dean's discomfort increased exponentially. "It's a souvenir!" he exclaimed. "It's not what you think. I had that picture with me overseas."

"Did you?" the warden's expression softened and he loosened his grip on his hostage. Zachariah didn't destroy the photo in favor of giving Dean a lengthy lecture on the sins of impure thoughts and masturbation. In that moment, Dean felt like he was witnessing a one-man show preformed by an alien. He wasn't sure how it was possible for two, so dissimilar human beings to exist on the same plane of reality without the universe collapsing. Zachariah was riding a horse so high that he made the preacher Talbot look modest. At the end of his speech, the warden glanced over to the Bible he had given Dean that was still sitting on the floor beside the toilet and disgust lit up in his pale eyes.

Dean cleared his throat and answered the warden's unuttered question. "Uh, I keep it, where I read it."

There was a film of dust about an inch thick over the Bible. Dean shifted on his feet. "So… As much as I'm enjoying our chat on not yankin' it and everything, if there's nothing else…" Dean waved his hand, "I've got a lot of prison time to catch up on."

"I have a favor to ask of you," Zachariah remarked suddenly.

"A what now?"

The warden set Betty safely on Dean's mattress. He looked even unhappier than he did before, but he managed to force out some words. "It's come to my attention that you're a skilled mechanic."

Dean's mouth hung ajar.

"Are you or are you not?" the warden leveled.

"Yeah. Yes, sir. If I don't say so myself."

"My automobile in dire need of a tune-up, and the only mechanic for miles is booked for weeks. I'd be willing to let you have a look at it, if you're up to the task." The warden's request was phrased like a privilege. To Dean it was because he had fantasized about running his hands over the Chrysler Saratoga since the first moment he had seen her – or any car for that matter. Despite the dirtiness that came from being handled by the warden, the Chrysler was a cream dream and a modern marvel. Dean couldn't believe he was getting such an offer to be trusted with the maintenance of that vehicle.

"Yes, sure," Dean replied. "For five-fifty, it's done."

The warden's short-lived pleasure dissipated, and he expressed offense that Dean would dare charge him anything, much less five dollars and fifty cents. " _Five-fifty?"_

Dean was baffled by Zachariah until it dawned upon him that the warden equated prison labor with slave labor. He wanted Dean to work for nothing, but the Winchester stood his ground. _Hell no._ _Nothing's free around here._

"That's a little bit steep, Dean."

"Are you kiddin' me? That's a steal."

"Maybe if you were providing the parts and the facility," Zachariah countered. "Two dollars is a generous sum."

The eyebrows on Dean's forehead almost shot into the air. "Good luck finding a mechanic that'll do a tune-up for two dollars!" Dean scoffed. "Five forty-five."

"Two fifteen," Zachariah snarled as his guards looked on.

Dean wanted to work on cars again more than he wanted almost anything, but he still had his dignity. This was one of the few times he would have power over Zachariah, and he quite liked watching his face change into different shades of angry. "Five thirty," Dean smirked, "And a bottle of whiskey."

Zachariah could talk about morals and God all day, but everyone in the prison knew he kept a large personal stash of spirits in his office at all times. He ignored the comment about the whiskey. "Three dollars!"

"Five bucks… and a bottle of whiskey."

The haggling continued until Zachariah could sense his guards inwardly laughing at him and applauding Dean for his tenacity. The warden was a tightwad, but not to the point that he would embarrass himself irrevocably in front of his subordinates. They settled on three dollars, thirty cents, and a bottle of whiskey.

* * *

Dean didn't sleep the night of the arrangement, but not because he was too cold or because he was having nightmares or pain. He was so excited about the prospect of working on a car, even if it was something as simple as a tune-up, that he stayed awake through the night with his vivid green eyes smiling at the stars through the bars on his window. It couldn't be possible, he said to himself. It was too good to be true. He had been pushing his luck asking for whiskey in the same negotiations. Surely, two wonderful things couldn't happen to him in the same day. Yet, they did.

The day of the job, he devoured his breakfast with an aura of exhilaration enveloping his entire being.

"Why are you so… _happy_ today?" Castiel asked Dean quietly as they were putting away their dirty trays.

"Happy? I'm not happy. Who's happy around here?" Dean answered, but he was grinning ear to ear.

"Dean, tell me," Castiel pressed and ran after the Winchester as he wandered to the library.

"I don't wanna jinx it!" Dean replied.

"So there's something to jinx?" Castiel couldn't handle the anticipation. "What did you do? Dean!"

Dean wouldn't say. At around one thirty in the afternoon, he secreted himself away from the library and Castiel followed not far behind. All day, the blue-eyed inmate had been tormented by not knowing the source of Dean's pleasure. He didn't think he could be content if he never discovered what it was, so he expertly tailed the Winchester all the way to the garage of the premises.

Spying was something that came naturally to Cas. He swiftly avoided two guards and three inmates on his venture. Unseen, Castiel observed Dean speaking to the warden next to a vehicle that could only be described as a gleaming, heavenly cloud made of metal. The car parked behind Dean and Zachariah was so beautiful that even Castiel found it hard to remove his eyes from it. He had never noticed what the warden drove before that moment. Zachariah was laying down all the rules for handling his car to Dean, as Dean listened with a good impression of professionalism.

The warden left, and Dean stood for a few moments with his hands on his hips, just looking at the car. Castiel, watching from behind, would have relinquished all worldly possessions to be able to see the expression on his face and to read the thoughts going through his brain. Dean was in a zone so peaceful and joyful, though solitary, that Castiel thought it would be wrong to disturb him and make his presence known. He stayed back and concealed himself although he didn't have to try hard for Dean to not notice him.

The entire language of Dean's body shifted as he began his job, doing what he had done so many hundreds of times in the past. Castiel saw that Dean purposefully got dirtier than necessary, touching the car more than he needed just to feel every inch of greasy metal he could get his hands on. He was thorough and handled every piece of the car like a royal heirloom worthy of the utmost respect. The car was something alive and magical to Dean. He had a quiet conversation with it as he worked of which Castiel could not hear a single word.

Every now and then a guard came to check on his progress, but Castiel was too intrigued to stay hidden. Soft-footed as ever, he gravitated towards Dean and sat to the side of him to watch. At last, Dean noticed his silent companion. "Jesus H!" Dean exclaimed, dropping the rag in his hand. "Damn it, Cas. One of these days, you're gonna give me a heart attack. You can't just sneak up on me… like that."

Dean was stumbling over his words because Cas was looking at him with an adoration he could almost hold. Scruffy and handsome, Castiel smiled, "Hello, Dean."

"'Hello' yourself." Dean picked up the rag and eyed Castiel with mock judgment. "You followed me here. You know what that makes you? A stalker. A real creep."

Unapologetic, Cas shrugged his shoulders. No longer able to contain his excitement, Dean leapt forward and wrapped a friendly arm around Cas to drag him closer to the vehicle. "You weren't supposed to know about this until later. I swear I was gonna tell you," Dean said. "Of course I was gonna tell you."

Dean went on to explain the warden's unusual visit and his request, sure to emphasize how much of a blowhard Zachariah was. The warden had promised his wife to have the car seen to months ago. In Dean's words, the woman had him by the balls and that was just fine because it worked to his advantage. Zachariah had been driven to resort to Dean because so many mechanics were off at war. Little did Dean know that Gabriel had been the little bird to whisper in Zachariah's ear, making the suggestion of Dean to work on his car over all the other inmates with mechanical knowledge. "…so that's why I'm here, gettin' dirty."

Cas gave him genuine praise. "Congratulations."

Dean shone with pride and presented Cas to the car like they were esteemed guests at a prestigious gathering. "Cas, buddy, let me introduce you to Miss Chrysler Saratoga. She's one of the first – a 1940 model."

If Castiel had been wearing a hat, he would have felt compelled to tip it to the lady that brought so much satisfaction to Dean. "A Saratoga, huh?"

Cas knew next to nothing about cars or what a tune-up entailed, and Dean just wouldn't stand for that. At great length, Dean tried to pull Castiel into his slice of paradise. Everything, from her eight cylinders to her new style of headlights, was important to Dean so Cas listened attentively, despite understanding little of what he said. "It's a great car," Cas commented because Dean's enthusiasm was infectious.

"I know, right?" Dean dragged Cas to the passenger side and opened the door for him to invite him into his motorized kingdom. "Check out the interior. Pretty well kept for that old bastard."

Castiel reached out a hand, but was too afraid to lay a finger on the lightly colored seats. "Have a seat," Dean urged.

"No, I can't." Castiel shied away, with dread visible in his eyes. "The guard will come back."

"Fuck the guard. Sit down."

"I'm not sure if – "

"If I'm sure about _anything_ in this life, it's that your ass is going to touch _that_ seat." Dean maneuvered Castiel's suddenly ragdoll form into the car and flashed him a wide smile. "See? The world didn't end, did it?"

"No," Cas responded, glowing with bashful delight. He kept his hands on his lap, still to worried about touching the car, and Dean moved away to finish his work. The perfection of having Cas seated in a vehicle as he worked on it lasted only for a few more minutes. Dean carefully cleaned the car, not leaving a single fingerprint on it. It was very important, Dean said, that a mechanic should not leave a trace of evidence that he had ever been working on a car. He was very proud of the fact that none of his clients had ever complained to him about the cleanliness of their vehicles after he had worked on them. On the other hand, Dean was a dirty, oily mess.

"Alright, fun's over," Dean sighed. Though few things could be as precious as seeing Castiel seated calmly in a car, Dean knew the moment had come to its predestined end. He was preparing to help Cas out of the vehicle when they heard the last voice they wanted to hear shouting at them from behind.

"Get him out!" Zachariah was storming up to Dean. "Get him out immediately!"

Castiel shot out of the car like it was about to explode and Dean jumped back at the sight of the warden. The Winchester tried to make excuses, but was cut off by the other man's fury. "You better clean that seat." The warden spat. "My _wife_ sits there."

The taste in the warden's mouth was so bitter that he refused to speak to Cas. The convict may as well have been a feral cat or a diseased rodent in Zachariah's eyes. When he did acknowledge Cas, it was only with a brief look of disgust and a shooing wave. Cas felt too lowly to even apologize. He made himself scarce.

Now monitored only by the warden, Dean felt on edge. He cleaned all the seats for him and showed him all the work he had done. With Castiel gone, Zachariah eased and expressed mild approval at the job Dean had done. Dean had finished earlier than expected and had done more than was asked of him. He was happy for the value and convenience of the services rendered despite Dean's indiscretion. "Well done," the warden said. "We can forget about that little incident earlier."

"Thank you, sir." Dean had shoved his hands in his pockets. He hated having to thank the warden, especially when the warden hadn't bothered to thank him at all, but he was being obliging to protect himself and Cas.

"You'll find your whiskey in the storage room in the back," Zachariah inclined his head to the far corner of the garage. Dean had not realized there was such a room at all. "The bottle doesn't leave that room, you understand me? After tonight, whether you drink it or not, it'll be gone."

"Yes, sir," Dean blinked. "Wait – wait a minute – you want me to down a fifth of whiskey in one night?"

 _I like your style._ For the first time ever, Dean was impressed by the warden. Drinking that much in a night wasn't an impossible feat for Dean. Some would say that particular accomplishment had been one of his worst habits.

"I don't care what you do with it, or who you share it with, as long as it stays in that room. And, Dean, knowledge of that bottle's existence will stay in that room too."

"Gotcha!" Dean gave the warden an energetic salute. "You have my word."

* * *

Dean didn't believe that the bottle was a tangible thing until he saw it with his own eyes. Against all odds, a full bottle of Jack Daniel's was sitting in the storage room of the garage on an old card table like an oasis in a desert of sobriety. Next to it was a single glass. "Holy shit."

Dean didn't move to open it because he genuinely thought it would be booby-trapped or a figment of his imagination. When he finally touched the bottle, exhilaration struck his heart. He bolted out of the room, not leaving the bottle for more than seconds, to go talk to a guard and return. Moments later, there was a knock on the door of the garage storage room and a cautious whisper. "Dean?"

The voice, naturally, belonged to Cas.

"He did it. He actually got it," Dean said to Cas after he cracked the door open to let Castiel inside. "Even with the whiskey ban. It's here."

Cas stood by Dean, staring down at the unlikely bottle of Jack with an identical look of wonderment.

"You know what this means?" Dean asked. Cas didn't know because he wasn't aware of many things involving the outside world, including the production and sale of alcohol. "This bottle must be four years old, at least."

"I didn't know there was a whiskey ban."

"You can drink it and buy it, but they haven't been makin' it since forty-two," Dean responded. He didn't know a lot of the things Cas knew, but he was educated on the topics of cars and alcohol.

"But Zachariah is always drinking."

"He's either making bank or in on some shady business," Dean commented. "But it doesn't matter none to me." He clamped a hand down on Castiel's shoulder. "Because we are gettin' drunk tonight."

Though cluttered and uncomfortable, all varieties of storage rooms meant intimacy to the two men. With pleasure, Dean unsealed the bottle and poured the first drink. He allowed Castiel to smell the unique aroma before downing the shot in a swift movement. Cas thought the liquid smelled pungently delicious and sexual, but that was possibly because he couldn't separate the scent of the fluid from Dean's heated gaze and alluring proximity. Dean winked with a playfulness and giddiness that made Cas wonder if this was not how it might have felt to be seduced at a pub. "You're next."

"Are you sure you want to share this with me?" Cas asked. They were standing so near to each other that Castiel had only to nudge his fingers inches forward to caress Dean's knuckles. "You never know when you'll get more."

"I'm sure. I'm damn sure. It has to be gone by tonight. I need you to drink this with me." His tongue was tingling with tastes he had forgotten. The liquor seeping gently into his veins warmed Dean, but he wouldn't have been so happy if Castiel had not been there with him. Dean served a generous shot that Cas took gladly. "Cheers."

"Cheers?" Castiel frowned, lifting the glass to Dean. He didn't have Dean's drinking skills, so he choked slightly on the strong substance.

Dean laughed at him, but provided encouraging words. "Drink! Drink up! Don't be shy."

By the time Cas was done with his shot, Dean was firmly in his personal space, a hand settled over Cas' waist. Their liquored lips rapidly found each other, mingling passionately together. Whiskey tasted better from Cas' mouth. Dean held him so tightly that Cas felt more desirable than the rare liquor behind them. When they finally parted, Castiel inhaled the mixture of fragrances clinging to Dean like an overwhelming aphrodisiac. Alcohol, oil, dirt, sweat, and metal enticed Cas. He smelled, tasted, and felt what he thought was the essence of Dean. "It's good," Castiel breathed. "Spicy…burning."

"Attaboy. Hope you're not a lightweight," Dean licked the corner of Castiel's lips. "We've got a lot of bottle to get through."

Castiel momentarily flicked his attention to the bottle that had only a small dent in it. Dean was challenging him and Cas was prepared. "I'm ready when you are."

Dean poured another drink while Castiel unbuttoned his shirt. In the middle of his drink, he felt Cas' hand travel into his pants. This time, Dean almost choked amidst Cas' loving strokes. Parched, eager lips found Dean's chest as the Winchester's throat burned. Castiel was impatient to sink down Dean's body, trailing his skin with his mouth.

"It's your turn," Dean huffed to no avail. Even as Cas lowered Dean's pants to reveal his cock and lick up his shaft, Dean poured a drink with an unsteady hand. He didn't know if he felt intoxicated because he hadn't had a drink in so long or because Castiel was making his blood rush with lust. "Drink up…" Dean pleaded.

On command, Castiel sucked Dean's arousal, ignoring the shot that had been poured especially for him. The glass now abandoned, Dean sunk back into the table to enjoy the warmth of the mouth enveloping him. Shivering with ecstasy, he picked up the familiar, wonderful rhythm of fucking Castiel's mouth. Then, about as abruptly as he had begun to suck Dean into oblivion, Castiel eased away, flicking his tongue over Dean's aching tip. He looked up to lock eyes with the Winchester before reaching out for the glass.

"Cheers," Cas said again, raising his glass to the shaking, wanton male before him. He took his shot with a little more grace than his first. Come and whiskey were an interesting combination, Cas decided. Still on his knees, he took a handful of seconds to admire every sensation.

"Bastard…" Dean cursed. "Beautiful fucking bastard."

Cas had left Dean hard and cold, but he quickly resumed gratifying him with his affectionate lips and tongue. Whiskey was an afterthought as Dean wove his fingers into Castiel's hair and pleaded for him not to stop. Cas fondled and groped Dean mercifully, and let him come in his mouth.

Blissful, tipsy, and more than a little bit in love, Dean trickled down to the floor to wrap his arms around Cas. He bit his collarbone and left a mess of kisses on his chest and face before rolling to the floor in contentment, pulling Cas along with him. A heavy clank indicated that Castiel had placed the bottle of whiskey right by Dean's head. "It's your turn," Cas reminded Dean.

"I just… I need minute."

"We only have until the nightly count." Castiel had climbed on top of Dean to touch and kiss him as he lay satisfied on the floor.

"You lush," Dean grinned. "I love it."

He tasted himself in Castiel's mouth before he tasted another drink and they became more undressed by the second. Their tongues swirled together in lazy caresses that were punctuated by the saliva and come slick thrusts of Castiel's erection between Dean's cheeks. "Drink up," Cas whispered.

Never had it taken longer for a drink to be poured and consumed. A younger Dean would have been embarrassed to begin feeling effects after only three shots, regardless of how massive they were, but this Dean didn't care. He was stupid with joy from his position on the dusty, unclean pavement. "Lube, Cas," Dean said with his fingers trailing over the stubble on his face. "Lube."

"I don't have it." Castiel grumbled when Dean glanced towards the door, "You're not leaving me."

"I'll run."

"No, you won't. Dean, you're drunk."

"Sweet, innocent Cas. _Am not_. You haven't seen me drunk," Dean argued and gave Cas a furious kiss. He poured a clumsy shot and carefully set it into Castiel's hands after forcing the other man to sit up. Dean tried to inch away, but Cas doggedly held onto him. Dean met him with several fiery kisses. "I'm not drunk, but you damn well better be by the time I get back. You drink five fucking shots. I'll be back in five."

"Why? I'd rather have you," Cas complained. Dean pulled up Cas' pants and did his best to make himself presentable. "Stay."

"If you can't drink five shots in a row, I can't call you a Winchester."

"What?" Castiel gasped. "You would call me a Winchester?"

"Why the hell not? You don't have a last name anyway. Drink five shots and you can have my last name. Wait and be patient, you horny son of a bitch." Dean left Cas with kisses, whiskey, and a challenge that didn't quite make sense. With a glass of amber sin in his hand, Castiel fell into a stupor. What did Dean mean?

 _Five shots_. He downed the first of five with gusto. _Patience is a virtue_. There was no doubt that Dean would be his, so he just needed to wait. One more shot kept Cas occupied. Two down, three to go. _How can he tell if I've had five?_ Cas wondered.

Cas poured another, hoping he could complete the trial given to him by Dean. By now, his lips were sensitive. _Three_. He poured the fourth and was actually worried it would take him longer to drink five shots than it would take Dean to return. Now that he was more than halfway through the challenge, he realized five shots was more alcohol than he had believed it was. The sight of oil on his pants temporarily distracted Cas. Dean's dirty hands had left their mark on him.

_Concentrate! Four!_

The fourth vanished, which added up to six shots total consumed by Cas since the bottle had been opened. It didn't seem right that he should be drinking so much more than Dean when Dean had been the man to earn the bottle. This was more whiskey than Castiel may have ever had to drink. In fact, Cas was fairly certain he had never had this beverage before. He wanted to tell Dean when he came back because Dean liked knowing things about his past, no matter how trivial. Castiel's former life as a free man was still so indecipherable to him, but a strong feeling told him that whiskey had not been a part of it.

_Maybe I never drank at all._

Caught up in his inner monolog, Castiel poured his final shot just in time. He was throwing it back as the door swung open. Excited, Dean entered and smothered Cas with his mouth and body. "You drank five, didn't you?"

"How did you know?"

"'Cause it's you," Dean muttered to his lips. "I know you." He glanced over to the bottle for confirmation. Dean knew how a bottle looked after a shot had been taken so the math was easily done. He had been around alcoholics all his life, but he didn't need calculations for Cas.

"Dean," Castiel kissed the other man fervently before offering him the tidbit of information he had learned about himself in Dean's absence. "I've never had whiskey before."

Dean chuckled. "Bull. You don't know that. You don't even know your own birthday."

"I do. I haven't had it before. I just know."

"Fuck," Dean murmured. "Well, that's a first."

"What is?" Castiel asked, innocently. Dean declined to answer in favor of pouring himself a drink. The truth was Cas was the only important man in his life that wasn't a drinker. Even Sam often drank too much, though he had never been able to compete with Dean or their father. Dean's liberal shot vanished in the blink of an eye.

"Nothing." Dean felt over Cas' muscles to focus on where they had left off. "I like that you've never had a drink of whiskey. I like that you're drinking now. With me."

Cas felt those sentiments emblazoned on the bridge of his nose and on his lips through Dean's kisses. He worked on taking Dean's clothes off yet again. Then, he fished the lubricant from Dean's pocket to slicken his fingers. Dean set another full shot in Cas' free hand. "It's your turn," Dean insisted. "Bottoms up."

Cas thought about disagreeing because he had just taken five shots and thought perhaps that Dean should catch up, but he simply shrugged and took another. The effects of that shot sizzled throughout his being like a firecracker. Cas leaned forward to press their foreheads together and absorb what he had just done. His fingers nudged inside Dean slowly. "I think I'm starting to feel something," Castiel admitted and Dean had to cover the smile growing over his lips.

"Is it my ass? Because I'm feeling that too," Dean gasped and reclined back. "Don't get too drunk to fuck me."

"I won't," Castiel promised, awakening his fingers to the task. There was a gorgeous man before Cas that cared enough to share something with him that was priceless and that had gone through considerable lengths just to let Cas have him in the privacy of that tiny room. Determined digits dug into Dean to rouse him into a frenzy. The novel fog of alcohol affected Cas primarily by giving him a unique perspective on how much he loved Dean. He babbled soft, incoherent worship into Dean's skin with licks and kisses over his nipples and chest at the same time that he cherished every moan Dean produced.

Cas was cute drunk. Then again, he was almost always cute to Dean. Adoringly, the Winchester stroked the cock that had been diligently waiting for him. In lieu of chatter, he sucked Cas' skin and hastened him with soft sounds he knew would be enticing to Castiel's ears. Cas fell for it all and fell _into_ Dean with a pointed thrust that stretched him more than his fingers ever could. Dean wanted to drink as he was fucked, but Cas pinned him down by both his wrists to drive him into the floor. Heated, rapid bucks of his hips kept Dean in the present. "Deeper," Dean begged in a breathy tone. " _Cas_."

Castiel forcefully positioned Dean on his side and gripped his leg high to strike more adamantly at his core. Dean clawed into the dirty floor, groaning faint praises. The alcohol in his system should have sedated Cas, but the thrill of taking Dean in a new locale and the pleasure of immersing himself in Dean's mechanic ego fueled him with unending sexual energy. Dean moaned unintelligibly.

Bending over him, Cas replied to Dean's ear, "What."

"Drink," Dean licked his lips. Quickly, Castiel used his strength to heave Dean up into his lap. He covered him in languid kisses, thrusting up into his body all the while. The wait had certainly been worth it.

Blindly, Dean groped toward the bottle. Glass be damned, he poured alcohol directly into Cas' mouth from the rim and then fused their lips together into a drunken kiss. "Cheers," Dean cooed and licked away whatever whiskey they had been unable to swallow.

The bottle was emptying quickly. Abruptly, Dean pushed Cas down on the floor to ride him from above with seductive, urgent rolls of his hips. He scratched into Cas' chest because sometimes the other man was prettier scuffed up. Castiel yelped softly, glad to take all the pain Dean desired to inflict upon him. He was nearing his climax when Dean cruelly removed himself completely.

"Dean, Dean, wait – !"

Dean had only moved to turn around and sink down harder. Castiel's hands, then, were like bruising vices, roughly pulling the Winchester down on his cock. Watching Dean grind from behind, he reached completion with a heady groan.

* * *

Castiel and Dean woke up in identical conditions the next day. Each man greeted the buzzing bell of the morning with red, glazed, and miserable eyes. Both inmates had to be prodded out of bed by guards, and then they didn't get out of bed, they _fell_ out, uttering twin groans of suffering. They sauntered into the showers, twitchy with their abuse of alcohol and covered in various marks. Their breakfasts went poked, but uneaten.

"If you're not eating that, I will," Gabriel remarked. He pointed at Dean's roll and his untouched gruel.

"Be my guest," Dean puffed, unable to do anything other than tentatively sip his coffee. Gabriel energetically swiped the roll and drenched it in Dean's gruel. He knew what had happened because he had a knack for knowing everything, whether or not he was told. Gabe thought it was clever, hilarious, and commendable that Dean had weaseled out a bottle of spirits from the ornery warden.

In silence, Cas shoved his tray in Charlie's direction. The redhead gazed at Cas with a combination of surprise and suspicion. "Are you drunk?"

"How did you – ?" Castiel caught Dean's disapproving glare and remembered he wasn't supposed to tell anyone. "No. I am not drunk at all."

"Right," Charlie pouted. "If you are drunk, it's okay, you know. It's not like you're good at hiding things. You wear a lot of stuff on your sleeve for a big tough guy everyone's afraid of. It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you had come across some alcohol and had decided not to share it with me even though _I_ would have shared with you if _I_ had found some. I really mean, it's _all right_ , Cas, if you're drunk. I wouldn't tell anyone…except… um, all the people at this table?"

"You talk very fast sometimes," Castiel grumbled in reply.

"You are drunk," Charlie sighed and died a little on the inside. He wanted to be drunk too.

"I'm not sayin' we were drinking," Dean chimed in, "But if we were, we would have shared with you if we hadn't gotten …carried away."

"Hypothetically." Castiel tripped over the word to corroborate with Dean. "That's a hypothetical."

"I'll get you some booze," Gabriel nudged Charlie. "Forget these jerks. We don't need 'em."

"We weren't drinking!" Dean insisted.

Knowledge of anything did not stay confined in one single space for long. That day after Dean had worked on the warden's car, everyone knew about it. Gabriel had to take credit where credit was due, so he bounded into the library, thirsty for all the details. He admitted that he had been advertising Dean's talents to the warden for weeks when he had learned about his car troubles. Gabe argued that it wasn't a violation of any prior agreement with the warden if Dean told him what had happened because he had been in on it the entire time. In the course of the day, Gabe learned enough to keep himself entertained.

"I was going to send Cas to get you and Charlie next, but the bottle just disappeared so fast…"

Gabriel guffawed. "Sure, sure. I'll believe that when pigs fly. Consider our debt settled."

"What debt?"

"In exchange for body warmth," Gabriel wagged his eyebrows, "I got you _body warmth_." Dean's mouth fell open and Cas watched on in awe. If Gabriel wasn't completely full of shit, he was some kind of genius.

* * *

The warden had set a precedent. If he could have his car serviced cheaply by the Winchester, who couldn't? The guards were cautious at first, but soon, requests began to trickle in. Zachariah wasn't Dean's biggest fan, but the fact that he couldn't find a single fault in the way he had cared for his car spoke highly for him. The warden didn't see it as a major inconvenience for Dean to attend to other people's cars, as long as they were employees that notified him in advance.

Dean visited the garage more often than ever to rotate tires, change oil, provide tune-ups, see to unreliable engines, and any other number of issues that arose. As long as the guards provided the parts and supplies, Dean could do just about anything for rates that were unreal. Sometimes, he cleaned the cars for pennies. In no time, he had gained considerable trust and favor with the guards.

Whenever he collected cash, Dean would write to Bobby to send the money to Ben. Finally, he had a means by which he could assist the child he had harmed in a heartbreaking, irreversible way. Dean thought of Lisa and hoped that she would have approved of his methods. For too long, it had bothered him that so many other people were caring for Ben while he did nothing. He had found his own way to help now, no matter how late and inadequate it was.

He wrote to Bobby because he didn't feel right writing Ben directly. Dean was explicit in his letters that the money's source should be a secret, and that only Ben should spend the money he sent. Dean wanted Ben to use it for himself, whether it was for comics, Cokes, candy, or college. Cas had walked in on him one day when he had been writing to Bobby and had expressed admiration for what he was doing. Dean couldn't ask Lisa if he was doing right by Ben, but Cas' approbation helped him feel better about the situation.

Dean wasn't always paid in dollars. On occasion, he accepted pie and other small items. As often as he could, Castiel would sneak out of the library to watch Dean work. Gradually, he learned more about cars and more about Dean through the way he spoke about them and worked. Cas loved being in the garage with Dean because he thought maybe the prison garage was like the one Dean must have worked in on the outside. They never again got drunk, but they did pass their time together peacefully, absorbing the sensations of the garage with mutual appreciation.

Winter was still going on strong the evening Dean offered Cas a risky proposition. The sun was sinking into the horizon as Dean leaned against the old convertible he had just finished working on to beckon Cas with every fiber of his being. "Hey, Cas. You wanna go for a ride with me?"

The look in Dean's eyes caused Cas to doubt exactly what kind of ride Dean meant. Castiel's brain stalled, and then started abruptly. "T-The car? In the car?"

"Yes, Cas. The car." The other man's pure confusion made him smile. "Let's go for a drive. You and me."

They were standing next to a magnificent specimen fit for the task, yet Castiel thought Dean's proposal was impossible. The car was not theirs and they had nowhere to go. Not only that, but only Dean had permission to touch the car. "But, Dean."

"No buts. Let's do this."

"Don't you remember what happened last time I sat in a car?" Cas cast his gaze downwards. Zachariah had made him feel like scum. He spent so much time around Dean that he occasionally forgot that most people felt similar abhorrence for him. "No man would want me to touch his car, or anything else belonging to him."

Dean pulled Castiel close by the sleeve of his jacket. He gently caressed the skin of Cas' wrist once he was near. "I don't give a damn about what other people think or what they want. These guards ain't better than you."

 _Yes they are_.

"Damn it, Cas. You could make all my hopes and dreams come true if you just do this one little thing."

"We'll get in trouble."

"No, we won't. Edgar's on watch tonight. That guy doesn't give a shit about anything," Dean asserted. He'd put a lot of thought into what he was asking Castiel. He had timed the typical posts of the guards and had planned the route they would take. Dean didn't intend to tell Cas that he had gone as far as to bribe the owner of the car to let him take it for a short night drive, never mentioning that he intended to have a passenger. That instant was the perfect hour. "C'mon, Blue Eyes. Warden's at home. Everyone's busy inside because it's too cold and dark out."

"If we get caught, they might not let you fix cars anymore."

"Don't care. A ride with you would be worth it," he said. Slyly, Dean looked to the side to check for bystanders before pulling Cas into a kiss. "Please?"

Castiel was easily influenced by his kisses, but he didn't want to ruin the joy Dean got from working on cars. Still, the request was important to Dean for some reason and that meant it was also important to Cas. Quizzically, he regarded Dean. "Why does it matter so much to you?"

"You know I've always wanted to drive with you." Dean slid back against the car to marvel at it. "Because. When you're in a car, you're free."

"But we have nowhere to go."

"You get in this car, and I promise I'll take you places." Dean opened the passenger side door. He watched with immense pleasure as Castiel carefully made his way in. Cas still wasn't used to the cushiness of car seats or the smooth feeling of leather. It all felt too soft and too good for him. To Dean's amusement, Castiel looked like he was afraid that he was going to destroy it by touching it. Dean jumped into the driver's seat and brought the mechanical animal to life. "It's beautiful, ain't it?"

"Yes." Castiel's visage transformed into a timidly glad expression, but when they moved forward, his eyes went wide. It had been thirteen years since he'd ridden in a car and any speed was incredible to Cas.

"Cas, settle down. We're not even out of the driveway yet." Dean couldn't resist a quiet laugh. He turned on the lights and eased the vehicle forth. All the gates were locked for the night, barring them from escaping on true roads, but there were smooth pathways all around the jailhouse that they could take. He started off slowly, perhaps because he was also afraid, but then Dean grew confident. He wanted Cas to feel the wind blowing against his face, so he drove faster than was prudent.

"Dean!" Castiel clutched onto the car. "You're going too fast!"

"I know!" He glanced at Cas to see him lit up with anxiety and exhilaration. Horrified as he was, when Cas turned to face Dean, they shared enormous grins. The grin didn't last long because Cas looked back in front, and was startled by the darkness. "The road!"

"There isn't one." Dean shrugged. "It's fine, trust me."

They completed a lap around the prison without being detected or shot, which gave both of them courage. Pushing his luck, Dean gazed at Cas. "You wanna go again?"

Whether or not it was Russian roulette they were playing, Castiel consented to another turn eagerly. By their third turn, they were full of wild delight. Instead of stopping back at the carport, Dean stopped in front of the main gate. It was constructed of high, black iron bars and had both mechanical and manual locks. Dean revved up the engine in consideration.

"What are you doing?" Castiel asked.

"Do you think – ?"

"No, I _don't_." Cas plucked the thoughts from Dean's brain. There was no way in heaven or hell that the car could plow through the gate. They had power, but not that much power.

"But what if it did?" Dean was brimming with maniacal energy and ideas flowed from his mouth without being checked by his better judgment first. "We could make it. Us, together. Like Bonnie and Clyde. C'mon, be my Bonnie."

_I'm gonna get you out of here._

Castiel was not persuaded by Dean's debonair grin this time. He would have followed Dean directly to the gallows if he'd asked, but that didn't mean he wouldn't voice his opinion about it first. He wasn't afraid of much, but Cas was absolutely mortified of the prospect of seeing Dean's brains get blown out. "Dean, Bonnie and Clyde got shot!"

"Only 'cause they got caught."

Castiel braced himself for whatever terrible decision Dean was about to make. Then, the moment passed. "Your face," Dean muttered, "I was only kidding."

Yet, nothing about Dean was laughing. The Winchester put the vehicle in reverse and returned the beast to its home near the garage just in time to avoid the passing of a watchful beacon of light. Both men were still pumped with adrenaline. The silence between them was intense, and was finally broken by Castiel. "Why would I be Bonnie?"

Dean gave Cas a fleeting look.

"You assumed I would be Bonnie."

Dean flipped the lights off. "Because you're the pretty one."

Castiel inwardly begged to differ, but he was so pleased by the compliment that he couldn't contradict Dean. Seconds ago, Dean may have almost gotten him killed, but that didn't stop Cas from facing him with a sweet smile. Dean was upon him, covering him in kisses in the next instant.

Pulling on Dean's clothing, Castiel responded energetically. Dean's hand felt up the inside of his thigh and Cas trembled. For a long while, they did nothing but lock lips and dishevel each other's clothing. The winter air was cold, but intertwined on top of the leather they were warm.

"You were going to kill us," Cas whispered to Dean.

"I know. I'm sorry, Cas. I'm sorry," he apologized with his lips against his skin. "I think sometimes you make me lose my mind."

"Feeling… is… mutual…" Castiel's eyes fell closed. There was an intrinsic insanity that came with fusing their mouths together in a prison guard's car, but that didn't stop Cas.

"Fuck me, Cas," Dean breathed against his neck. "In the backseat."

He couldn't say no to Dean, which was a problem that he enjoyed more than was wise. They were taking every risk that night. Soon, Castiel was on top of Dean, stretched out in the back of the car. The Winchester wrapped his legs around Cas and curved his hips upwards. He tore a button off Castiel's shirt in his effort to get at his skin and Castiel kissed him so hard Dean felt weak from the lack of oxygen. When he ground his hips into Dean, there was a piercing creak that jarred Cas to his senses.

"No, no, no, Dean, this is a bad idea. It's too noisy," Cas uttered softly. He was shaking from above. Dean didn't speak for a while because he was sucking his neck with passionate attentiveness.

"Just use your hands," Dean replied and took Cas' dominant hand to lick all over his palm. Castiel obliged, stroking their members together, careful to avoid rocking the car too much. They hid their sounds of desire with effort, mainly by ensuring that their lips never broke apart.

By incredible luck, Castiel heard footfalls approaching when Dean did not. The separation of their mouths was a momentous, dreadful instant. _A guard_. Dean knew there was trouble when Castiel clamped a firm hand over his mouth and got down low on top of him. Still, Dean wriggled his hips into Cas. Exasperation and unquenchable desire flitted across Castiel's features. Dean only stilled when he also heard the incoming boots.

Finally, Dean worried that they had gone too far. Castiel tried to inch down further, and ended up crashing to the floor of the car, pulling Dean on top of him. _Shit!_ Dean pressed down on Cas and kept as motionless as possible.

The penitentiary was eerie in its silence. Dean had been correct in thinking that all the men would be inside. The atmosphere was so soundless Dean tried to pretend he didn't exist in order to avoid discovery by the man surveying the area. He met Castiel's eyes and – to his astonishment – the man actually began stroking their cocks again. Dean braced himself against the seats, screaming internally over the hand on his dick and the arm wrapped snugly around his waist to keep him hidden.

Castiel was quiet as he tormented Dean and didn't flinch when a ray of light from a flashlight briefly passed the air above them. Seconds that felt like an eternity passed and the feet of the unseen guard retreated.

"Son of a – "

" _Shh_." Castiel crushed his mouth to Dean's and massaged them both to a thrilling climax. Afterwards, their breaths intertwined, visible in the air, and they rested. Dean didn't know what to say.

Castiel's exposed chest had been covered in their come. The blue-eyed male had narrowly avoided death and pain several times that evening, but he was calm as he spoke, "It's a full moon."

Cas was watching the stars. Struck by wonder, Dean shifted to follow Cas' gaze up. Thousands of stars twinkled before them, accompanied by a giant, mysterious moon. A thin cloud ghosted past its facade. "That explains a lot."

"Hm?"

"The full moon brings out the crazy in every fucker," Dean answered and lowered his lips to Cas' yet again. Bathed in soft indigo light, they kissed for so long they almost forgot to panic.

"T-The count! Shit!"

Dean shot up suddenly, rushing to put his clothing back in order and Castiel did the same. There was no clock in sight, but they both knew there was less than a minute or two for them to return to their cells. Dean escaped the vehicle, pulling Cas behind him.

"It might have already passed!" Castiel fretted.

"No, we're good. We just have to run!" Dean ran as though his life depended on it and Castiel shot off in a different direction to get to his side of the prison. Dean felt desperate and exhausted by the time he slid into his hall. He caught the eye of his neighbor when he stumbled to his cell, fighting to catch his breath.

"Where the hell have you been?" The male asked. He didn't often speak to Dean, but tonight was a strange night all around.

"Winchester." The guard that was counting Dean's side of the cell marked off his name and went on his way, ignorant to whatever dramatic events had occurred in Dean's evening. Instead of going to bed, Dean remained outside of his cell to look for Cas.

He wasn't at his cell. _I told you to run. Hurry, Cas_. The nightly count on Castiel's side of the prison had also already started. There were four men left before Uriel reached Castiel's cell. Cas didn't make it in time. In horror, Dean watched as Castiel slid in ten seconds too late to his cell. Dean's eyes were glued to the men in the distance – one stony, large, and dark, and the other huffing from the exertion it had taken him to rush to his cell. Some words were exchanged. Then, hastily, Uriel's nightstick bludgeoned Castiel's ribcage.

The crack that reverberated in the steely air was so hard that it not only dropped Cas to his knees, but it also made every man who had witnessed it recoil. Heart thudding wildly, Dean cringed and exhaled pure anguish. Every sound ceased and everything but Uriel and Cas stopped moving in Dean's world. While Castiel was still helpless and in shock from the first blow, Uriel struck him again across the face. Dean swore he saw blood. He wanted to run to his aide, but the behemoth of a guard hoisted Cas into his cell, out of Dean's sight, and soon emerged to resume the count.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has no regrets over his public flogging. Dean becomes involved in a violent scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three moons have passed since my last update and I can't tell you how sorry I am for it. The holidays swallowed up my existence for a while. Let's be real though, I just plain get more anxious with each chapter that gets closer to the conclusion. I wish I could do better for you! I got this chapter for you just in time for Valentine's Day. :) I would dedicate this chapter to the holiday, but that might make me an awful person because this chapter is rapey and full of loads of homophobia (and sexism to a lesser degree). It's not all darkness! I put in a little joy and whatnot. I really hope you'll enjoy it. Thank you for reading! I appreciate you all more than I can say.

* * *

"I just need a minute! Give me one damn minute! God _damn_ it! Hey, hands off! Fuck – " Dean pleaded with the guards and tried to push through them in his first attempt to check on Cas, only to be gracelessly corralled and dumped into his cell. Heavy bars clanged and an unsympathetic lock resounded with a weighty clank.

Then, in an impulsive frenzy spurred by his frustration, Dean tried to punch his cell door open. A lightening strike of pain caused the Winchester to swear and cradle his throbbing fist. _That was stupid._

Dean's intense need to know if Cas was okay prompted frantic pacing throughout his cell. He was constructing the worst possible scenarios in his mind, imagining Cas with a broken nose and ribs. Uriel was known for being able to hit a man hard enough to obliterate bones. Knowing that a rib broken in a particular way could result in a punctured lung, Dean worried most about Castiel's ribs. What if Castiel was lying curled up in his cell, gasping for air as his lungs filled with blood?

Dean ran to his cell bars, calling urgently, "Cas!"

A cacophony of angry protests filled the air, drowning out any possible response Cas may have given.

"Shut the fuck up!"

"You shut the fuck up!" His face vicious, Dean flashed his middle finger to the intrusive assholes.

"It's light's out, fellas! Light's out!" A guard chimed in, banging his nightstick to the bars nearest to him. The awful sound indirectly provoked by Dean, didn't win him over to his fellow inmates that night.

With the lights out, Dean still tried to get a peek at Castiel's cell from the distance. Dean pressed himself to his immovable cell bars, a feeble bundle of flesh, organs, and bones against cool iron. He saw nothing but black behind Castiel's cell bars. Suddenly, his imaginings of Castiel lying in a pool of blood became vivid, haunting visions that he could not dislodge from his mind.

Dean was desperate enough and worried enough to attempt a conversation with his neighbor. "Hey, Jerkoff," Dean whispered, "Jerkoff! Get up!"

"You don't understand the meaning of 'shut the fuck up,' do you?"

Typical Jerkoff response. There was a reason why Dean didn't normally seek a tête-à-tête with the other male. He was as dumb as a slug and aggravating for the sake of being aggravating. Dean also thought he purposefully masturbated loudly, just to be rude. Hence, the name Jerkoff.

"I need you to help me get a message to and from Cas, okay?"

In response, the other inmate chuckled.

"God damn it, Jerkoff! Would it kill you to stop being a prick for just a few minutes?"

Apparently, it would. Dean didn't get any help to check on Cas and spent the rest of the night awake in wide-eyed anguish.

* * *

Dean greeted the following morning count with guilt, anxiety, and exhaustion. He believed it was entirely his fault Castiel had been hurt. If only he hadn't teased and coerced Castiel so dangerously, he might still be unharmed. After the guard marked his name down on his log, Dean ignored his neighbor completely in favor of staring out across the halls to where Cas was kept. Though it took him longer than normal, Castiel emerged from his cell.

Dean let go of the sigh he had been painfully holding back. As soon as the guards vanished, a burst of fire animated his body and he ran to Castiel's cell. "Cas, you're alive!" he huffed.

The dark-haired male had a sight gash on the bridge of his nose, but otherwise, he looked well and appropriately nonchalant for the morning. As if this day was unlike any other, Cas replied with the obvious, "Yes?"

"Don't you ever do that again!" Dean growled.

Taken aback, Castiel blinked. "Okay."

The older inmate thought it was a little too early for so much excitement, but he didn't protest at all when Dean lifted up his shirts to check his torso. In fact, Cas' body glowed with pleasure. His eyes flitted away from Dean's expression of concentration.

"Oh, good," Dean sighed, yet again. Castiel was intact – deliciously so. There wasn't a bruise or mark of any kind on the adamantine abs that he had admired so often in the past. Delicately, Dean traced his fingers over the firm muscles Uriel had injured. Perplexed, Dean commented, "He hit you so hard."

"I braced myself for it just in time," Castiel reassured Dean. The other man's tender concern touched him, but he did his best to downplay the situation. "I've seen him hit harder."

Dean, mesmerized by his abs, was in complete awe. If something had happened to Cas, he was certain he would have done something very unwise. Castiel leaned in to whisper soothingly to Dean. "After being here so long, I have developed a tough skin. You don't have to worry."

 _That's an understatement._ Dean nearly shuddered, his fingers still grazing over muscles of inconceivable firmness. Cas' hand slipped over Dean's to remove his touch and allow his shirts to slide back over his skin. Castiel's voice sobered the other man. "We have to shower, Dean."

"Right."

They couldn't risk being late for anything else – not after what had occurred last night. With rote precision, they showered in record time. Yet, unlike his usual routine, Dean took curious glances at his friend. Wrapped in his towel, he wondered what sort of things Castiel must have endured to be able to stomach a blow from Uriel with so much ease. Castiel never met Dean's eyes. He dressed with an unreadable expression on his face.

They met again in the mess hall as they always did. Gabriel couldn't stop yawning. Perhaps he had also been up too late, worrying about Cas. In their usual places, they ate as peacefully as they could.

"And he doesn't say a word." Gabriel broke the silence. He pointed to his own nose. "You've got a little something there."

Cas reached up slowly to touch his cut. When he pulled his fingers away, dried specks of red were sticking to his skin.

"Are you gonna tell us the story?" Charlie asked. He had imagined a fight. Maybe Castiel had wrestled with Uriel and bested him. He couldn't see a thing from his cell above, but he had been able to surmise there was some kind of scuffle just from what he had heard.

"There's not much to tell." Castiel stirred his porridge idly. "Uriel hit me. I recovered on the floor. Woke up this morning, still alive."

He gave Dean a fleeting look. Castiel's story wasn't very satisfying to anyone. Charlie was still curious, dying to know what Castiel had been doing out so late in the first place. He was about to say as much when a foot nudged his. It was Gabriel, who was chewing on his biscuit and watching Castiel slip back into thoughts that were clearly blissful. The almost smile on Castiel's face caught Charlie off guard.

Any pain Cas had suffered was nothing compared to his remembrances of the full moon of the previous evening that had shone like a pearl, casting enchanted light across Dean's features. The cold night air hadn't felt unpleasant when he had been pressed against Dean. As they had shared a view of the stars, everything had been painted in soft, beautiful blues that Cas would not soon forget. In that moment, Castiel had felt like he had been experiencing all of the things Dean had described to him about the free world. He'd spent over a decade incarcerated, but a few minutes with Dean had managed to create the illusion of the outside without ever having to leave their prison.

Dean's privilege of working on the guard's vehicles was a rope of freedom with which they had almost hung themselves. Yet, Castiel mused, "It was worth it."

* * *

Dean didn't see things the way Castiel did. For Dean, the taste of beautiful freedom they had shared was a torturous, teasing morsel that only whet his appetite. All day in the library, he complained about their situation and the injustices he felt.

"I wish we could do what we wanted. We should drink what we want, when we want it."

"And I wish I could fly," Castiel deadpanned to a Winchester that had no interest in listening.

"We should be able to go for joy rides in broad daylight!" Dean gave Cas a pointed look. "I want to do all those things with you, without having to worry about any of this."

Cas shrugged. "Hmm."

"Cas, I don't think I can handle being in here much longer."

"Everyone says that, and yet nobody leaves," Castiel answered. "At least not in the way they wish."

Men that were beyond pardons like Cas and Dean tended to leave only in wooden boxes, put there by either the guards or themselves. If they were very lucky, they might be freed by the time they were decrepit, yet not quite dead. Cas contemplated their world and then said something that surprised Dean to his core. "I'm not sure if I would leave, given the chance."

Dean couldn't comprehend what Cas had just said. He felt as if he was listening to a stranger's words. "You can't be serious."

"I don't know anything else. I don't have anyone else… not on the outside," Castiel explained, "I deserve to be here. We're all here for a reason, but I don't think there's a soul more deserving of being kept from the outside than me."

Dean put down the book he had been holding in his hand on the cart in front of him. He was more damaged by Cas' sentiments than he could have been by almost anything else he could imagine Cas saying to him. "Don't say stuff like that."

There was so much Dean didn't understand and couldn't yet understand. Castiel did nothing to illuminate him. Dean was by his side in the next instant, giving him a look that was fierce and passionate. "How can you know that if you haven't been out there? You don't remember the outside!"

"I'm sorry, Dean." Though Cas couldn't remember the outside, he did remember enough about himself that he would never take back what he had said. He was sorry for hurting Dean, but not for his feelings.

"You damn well better be." Dean couldn't say much else for a long while. He kept to himself as they worked. No matter what the other man wanted, if he ever found a way out, Dean would take Castiel with him. Dean was certain he could teach him to appreciate freedom.

That afternoon in the yard, they played the most serious game of chess they may have ever played. They exchanged fewer than a handful of words as they played, and Dean was so focused on their game that nothing else could penetrate his concentration. Each man was familiar with the other's moves and yet playing each other never ceased to have a relaxing effect. Chess also took time, which was always in need of being spent.

Dean was a risky player, with occasional strokes of bold genius, while Castiel was a knowledgeable, intuitive strategist that could see multiple outcomes from every move he made. What Cas hadn't anticipated was the subtle change of heart he would have after expending a great deal of time during this particular game. When Cas finally spoke, his throat was dry from the cold and the lack conversation between them up until that point.

"I suppose… I imagine, at least theoretically, it would be better on the outside," Castiel admitted. "I didn't mean that I can't see _any_ of the advantages of being on the outside."

"Mmhm." Dean listened, but only superficially.

"People get beaten out there too, but at least the chances of having to withstand such a beating, unarmed, are fewer than in the pen."

"After all the things I've told you, that's what stands out in your mind?" Dean didn't look up from the pieces of their game. _He could've said apple pie. Fucking in motel rooms. Cocktails. Open roads._

"It's important, isn't it? But, no. That's not the only thing." Castiel paused. "When I think about it, I wonder… What would it be like to have a job? I would have to have one, wouldn't I? Like an ordinary person."

Dean covered his mouth with his hand to smother a chuckle. _You really have the most boring imagination._ "You'll never be ordinary."

"I think I would like to have a job." Castiel frowned.

"That makes you the opposite of ordinary. People don't like having jobs, Cas."

"You liked your job."

Dean shrugged. He mulled it over and then raised his face to Castiel with a grin. "And what job would you like to have?"

"I… I don't know," Castiel stammered. He pondered hard, but could only come up with someone else's ideas. "What if I did something with investments, like Charlie used to do? I think I could be good at that."

"Really? That's what you'd pick to do out of all of the things you could do?" Dean wrinkled his nose. "I still think you'd be a professor."

"That's – no. I couldn't." Castiel looked unnerved. "That would involve talking, and too many people. Students. I would have to do something where I could be alone. Working with numbers sounds lonely."

Dean gave a shrug. "Professors are sort of odd balls. You'd be allowed to be awkward if you were one. That's what everyone would expect."

The thought of conversing with other people gave Castiel a strong sense of unease. He clutched the fabric of his pants and let out a frustrated exhalation. He couldn't handle the outside world if it meant talking to people. Dean couldn't possibly understand because he was so naturally charming. Dean had no idea how long Castiel had struggled just to get the nerve to approach the Winchester to speak to him during the first real conversation they had ever had. Cas licked his lips and considered his next words, but before he could speak, the sound of a piece being placed on the board distracted him.

Together, they stared at the chessboard for an extended time in silence.

"Wait," Dean said. "This isn't possible."

"Dean, you…" Castiel paused to look at the pieces again. "You beat me."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. That's checkmate."

"Is it?" Dean smiled broadly and a thrill of excitement traveled through his body. He nearly knocked the board over when he laughed a borderline hysterical laugh. Hastily, he steadied the board to preserve the location of every piece. "I won! I beat you! Me! I beat _you._ "

"Congratulations," Castiel replied in a heartfelt tone.

"You didn't let me win, did you?"

"No. I am forbidden from doing that, remember?"

Energetic hands slapped down upon Castiel's shoulders and Dean, yet again, exclaimed, "I beat you!"

His smile was so gorgeous that Castiel didn't mind the loss for even a second.

"Who beat who?" Gabriel, the habitual eavesdropper, asked as he passed the other men. The white stick of a smuggled lollipop protruded from between his reddened lips.

"I beat Cas, fair and square," Dean announced with pride, showing off the board to the witness.

"Oh, you mean he let you win," Gabriel answered. "It's about time, Castiel. It was starting to be cruel."

"No, damn it! I won! He didn't even know what hit him!"

Gabriel climbed up the bleachers to examine the game more carefully. Soon, Charlie, Death, and Edgar were surrounding Dean and Cas. "Well, that's something," Death remarked, "A small victory."

"It only took you a year," added the dark-eyed guard, and yet Edgar was grinning. "He must have rubbed off on you."

"I knew you could do it," Charlie lied as he gave Dean a pat on his back. With a laughing expression, he said. "It's a miracle. Good job."

"It's no miracle. It's skill." Dean said, placing his hands above his hips. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to pull off another win, so he cherished the moment.

"We should frame it, or take a picture of it. Beside it, we can write, 'Curtanica Correctional Penitentiary: Where Anything is Possible.'" Gabriel waved his hand in the air, a dreamy look in his eyes.

"Shut up, Gabe."

"I'm serious!"

"I guess this means I'll have to up my game," Castiel said softly, at last, and Dean regarded him with horror.

* * *

Dean's win over Castiel at chess was not the only miracle to happen that week. Before dinner one evening, Dean sat on his bed beside Cas, and read a letter from Sam that began as sorrowful as usual, but that ended with a note of sweetness. He read over his brother's wonderfully shaped words with curls of smoke from Castiel's cigarette drifting past the paper

> _Dear Dean,_
> 
> _Thank you for your letter. I haven't written you or anyone else in a long while, and for that, I sincerely apologize. You are the first person that I write. I can't bring myself to write Jess back after what I've done. I know we aren't married and that we aren't going steady, but I feel like a monster. Is it possible to love two people at the same time? I think about Madison everyday and I think I'll mourn her for the rest of my life. That isn't something I can tell Jess in a letter. If you see her, try to make her feel better. I know you will make excuses for me, but I think your efforts would be better applied in finding her a real man that will treat her right. Find her someone loyal and worthy if you can. Please take care of her._
> 
> _I may have lost all hope that I will ever deserve Jess' love, but I haven't lost hope in humanity. The most incredible, wonderful thing happened. Kevin is_ _alive_ _! I saw him with my own eyes! I thought he would be mad at me when he saw me because it was my fault he was captured in the first place, but he wasn't. We saw each other at a camp a few miles from Fontanellato. Without saying a word, he broke into a smile and ran at me for a hug. I think I crushed him half to death. He told me he escaped by digging a tunnel out of his cell. He took out a guard with a pipe during the night and then used the guard's knife to saw through a weak spot in the fence. He didn't stop running until he saw the right flags. Apart from the missing finger, Kevin looks good, all things considered. I didn't realize how much I'd missed him until I saw his face again. Seeing someone that I thought I'd never see again might be the greatest feeling I've ever had. As long as this war is going on, I'll never lose sight of him again. He's with me even now as I write to you. Actually, he keeps telling me to stop staring at him. Kevin also says that he misses you too, but he's glad you're home with your family._
> 
> _As always, I hope you are doing well and that you'll write again soon. I miss you._
> 
> _Your brother,_
> 
> _Sam Winchester_
> 
> _P.S. – Dr. Sexy asked after you last week. He seemed very concerned over your health. He still wears those ridiculous cowboy boots instead of his regulation shoes. How does he get away with that?_

"Well, I'll be damned."

Castiel lifted his eyes from his book and studied Dean. More often than not, if he hadn't been moved to tears, Dean wore a face of silent suffering when he finished reading Sam's letters. Today, he appeared contented. "What happened?"

Instead of explaining, Dean nudged Cas' arm with Sam's letter – an unspoken command for him to read it.

"Oh, Sam," Castiel shook his head as he read Sam's angst over Jess. The second paragraph made him sit up straight. "Kevin's alive?"

"Seems like it."

"That's wonderful," Castiel commented after he finished the letter. Dean plucked the cig burning between Castiel's fingers to take a victorious drag.

"Sammy's got a friend again. The world ain't complete shit." Dean grinned. He was overjoyed, but too tentatively to begin doing cartwheels. Castiel draped an arm over Dean and brought him in close. His eyes scanned over the paper again, focusing on the postscript this time.

"Who's Dr. Sexy?"

Dean coughed on cigarette smoke and tore the paper out of Castiel's fingers. He cleared his throat and tried to think of a way of explaining Dr. Sexy without sounding like a lusty schoolboy with a crush on the teacher. "Um, well. He's, uh…"

"Is he a cowboy or a doctor?"

"He's a doctor." That was a good start. Dean folded the letter and put it aside, hoping in vain that his answer would satisfy Cas.

Castiel frowned. "What kind of doctor wears cowboy boots?"

"Only Dr. Sexy," Dean replied, quickly loathing his inability to suppress the giddiness in his voice. In what he thought was a more restrained tone, he added, "It's just a thing he does. You know, because it looks good. It's his style."

"I see." Cas felt the same nagging sensation he had previously felt over the redheaded singer tug at his insides anew. Anna and Betty both watched from Dean's wall, as if mocking Cas. "He is a former lover of yours."

"Jesus! No!" Dean stuttered. He was absolutely speechless when he even considered the possibility. Cas eyed him intently for a few seconds before casting his gaze down. Then, he took the cigarette from Dean without saying anything else.

"Oh, don't tell me," Dean snickered, "You're jealous. You _are!_ Boy, you get jealous so easy." Dean pulled Castiel in by his waist and continued to snicker at Castiel's expense.

"It's not funny, Dean."

"Yes, it is. It so is."

Castiel pondered out loud, "Why is he still concerned after your health? It's been over a year since you were discharged. This kind of inquiry isn't standard medical procedure, is it? You stopped being his patient the moment you stepped on American soil."

Dean bit his lip in an attempt to contain his amusement because Cas was wearing an endearingly judgmental, irritated frown. Dean could imagine all of Castiel's envious thoughts fluttering through his brain with a burning curiosity to know every detail about him and the doctor. "You jealous over Dr. Sexy," Dean scoffed, "Now that's just sweet."

"Please tell me 'Sexy' isn't a legitimate surname."

"No, that's just what we called him on account of us not being able to remember his name. And, on account of him being so good looking."

"Good looking?" Cas flinched. "How so?" He was dying to know what Dean considered to be good looking in a fellow man.

Dean shrugged. "Why does it matter? He's just a guy that I'll never see again."

"I told you everything about my first."

"And I told _you_ – I didn't fuck this guy."

To Castiel, sex wasn't everything. He knew there had to be something special about this man overseas if Sam thought him important enough to mention and if Dean had such fond recollections of him. The doctor was a person of interest because, until that moment, Castiel had felt certain he was the only male to whom Dean may have ever been attracted. Other women in Dean's life had been expected, but never other men. "I still want to know," he said.

"Oh, hell no," Dean replied, on the immediate defensive. He inched away from Cas and set his hands over his crossed legs, a glare on his face. "The past is the past. There's not a God damned thing that concerns you about all this shit. It's just gonna feed your crazy jealously if I tell you anything else. Quit being so fucking mental about it."

 _Crazy. Mental._ Castiel was used to being called these things by other people, but the sound of those words coming from Dean felt particularly cruel. There was a cool shift in his attitude. His voice ceased to be soft and pleading as he addressed Dean again.

"Out there, they think you belong to me. Like a piece of meat. A toy." Castiel slipped by Dean's side and pointed casually to the realm outside their bars. He was gruff and pensive, "Maybe my jealously is what keeps you alive and safe. You should show me more respect."

Dean wasn't sure if he was being threatened or wooed, but there was a marvelous heat burgeoning where Castiel's breath met his skin. In a moment, Cas' jealously had flipped from lovable to frightening. Dean whispered something Castiel couldn't quite grasp. Castiel narrowed his eyes. "…Hide?"

"Mr. Hyde," Dean repeated, more clearly. In another whisper, he added, "I know you've read that one."

 _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde._ Dean's words caused Cas to stiffen.

"It's not a potion, so there must be a button somewhere," Dean muttered, feeling over Castiel's chest, downwards, "Or a switch. How else can you flip from adorable to fierce so fast?"

When Dean's hand neared the most obvious 'switch,' Castiel speedily pulled Dean on top of him to bring their lips together in a kiss that was equal parts lusty and dominating. Cas didn't stop kissing Dean until he felt his anger begin to subside. He didn't want to be the two-natured beast Dean described him as, but he couldn't help himself. He felt as though he could tear Dean in two with the depth of his passion for him. With his legs wrapped around Castiel, and his hands firm over his face, Dean invited him.

The cigarette in Castiel's grasp burned down to his fingers, but he didn't notice until ashes fell along Dean's neck. He chucked the spent stick to the ground and nuzzled Dean's throat with his face to inhale and taste the mixture of Dean and cigarette. "Tell me," Castiel commanded.

Cock to cock; Dean was a little more obliging. "What was the question?"

"What's sexy?" Castiel asked, nibbling Dean's skin and rubbing him with the scruff of his jaw. "…about Dr. Sexy?"

"Beard," Dean puffed as an instant reply. "He was never clean shaven."

"What else?" Castiel urged. His hands squeezed ass that unquestionably belonged to him and he coaxed Dean with rough, scratchy kisses. "Was he tall?"

The question was curious, with an edge of viciousness. "Taller than you," Dean quipped and felt immediate repercussions, "Ow! _Slightly_ taller."

_G'dammit, Cas._

Dean sat atop a frustrated, strong man. He thought about Dr. Sexy as he looked at Cas. Running his hands through Cas' hair, Dean elaborated, "He had dark hair."

 _Fantastic, glorious dark hair._ Dean observed him so deeply and carefully that Cas couldn't keep eye contact. Perhaps Dean had a type. There was a certain mold Cas thought he shared with this unnamed doctor, but he couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. Dean left a soft, sorry kiss on his cheek. "Brown eyes," Dean said. "I like yours better."

"But if he'd had blue eyes – "

"No," Dean cut him short. He pushed Cas down on the bed and expressed his overwhelming preference for Cas with his lips. "You're sexier."

* * *

In the following days, Dean did everything he could to express the pointlessness of any jealousy Castiel may have still been holding onto by every physical means in his possession. He sucked his dick in his cell, he let himself be fucked for hours on the dusty floor of the library storage room, and he invaded Cas with kisses whenever they happened to pass a darkened corner. Regardless of the risks, Dean also ignored breakfast one morning to beckon Castiel to have wet, heated sex in the showers after all the other men had gone. _Finally_.

The entire first week of March, Castiel was dizzy with Dean. They shared their bodies almost more than they shared words, and there was no longer a shred of doubt that Dean belonged to Cas as much as Cas belonged to Dean. Even apart from the other man, Dean would sometimes still tremble at the thought of Cas. There wasn't a single phantom of the past that could surpass what Castiel was to him.

An afternoon in the second week of March, Dean wore a far away look as he thought about Castiel's jealousy, which had been made all the more laughable now. The mechanic had just finished rotating the tires of a Ford in the garage – a task he could faithfully accomplish in his sleep – when he heard chatter nearby.

" _C'mon, Red, you know you want it."_

Dean dropped his tools as he was putting them back in their proper places to listen more carefully to the voice that made the hairs on his neck stand on edge. The phrase was as familiar as the hated voice.

" _It's a good deal. You suck my dick and you live. Don't and, well, you'll get fucked anyway. And cut."_

Dean could see the damned smirk in his mind as clearly as he could hear the chuckle. Tools forgotten, he bolted out of the garage to face a scene he had not been prepared to see. Charlie had been shoved up to the brick wall and was shaking, his eyes squeezed shut, as a hand concealing something lingered dangerously close to his throat. "Y-Yes, or not? Maybe?" Charlie stammered, barely able to get all his words out, "Maybe there's a 3rd option, huh? One where I live _and_ don't get cut? O-Or… raped. I really really like being alive and unharmed. It's kinda a thing I've got going on. We can talk about this, right? Hey! N-Not so close – "

Charlie let out a gasp of utter horror as the makeshift knife in Miggs' hand pressed more firmly over the artery in his neck. Miggs and knives were inseparable. The convict always found a way to fashion them out of whatever he could find. Charlie's eyes went wide and he looked into the dark orbs of a man that knew exactly how much blood would flow if he pressed into his neck just a little bit harder. Miggs was as precise as he was remorseless.

"Stop!" Dean yelled. He was quaking with fury at the lanky blond male hovering over his friend.

"Dean fucking Winchester, mind your own fucking business, please," Miggs answered, still looking at Charlie with determination. While gardening, Miggs had caught him off guard as Charlie had been responding to a maintenance request and he had no intention of letting him go.

"I said stop, or I'll fucking make you!" Dean stormed forward and Miggs replied by cutting gently into Charlie. That made the Winchester freeze.

"It's fine," Miggs assured Dean, "He's a faggot. He likes this sort of thing."

Charlie's face nearly turned as red as the blood that trickled down his neck, but he contained his tears with an impressive display of fortitude. His voice became nonexistent, as he feared even breathing too hard could open another wound into his flesh. Dean didn't leave. He considered rushing over to rip Miggs away, but Charlie's quick, shallow breaths and the position of the knife kept him still.

"Son of a bitch," Dean snapped, "Let him go or I will end you today."

"You can't make me do a damn thing," Miggs tossed Dean a happy smile, knowing he had the upper hand. Dean could possibly kill him, but not before he finished Charlie. "This one isn't yours, dipshit. And, I don't take orders from you."

"I'm gonna get you out of this, Charlie. Just hang on."

Miggs laughed, "Oh, no. You won't, you self-righteous whore."

"Fuck you!" Dean moved forward, every semblance of cool completely lost.

"My sweet little cunt," Miggs cooed to Dean, gripping Charlie more tightly with his knifeless hand. "I am really sick of you and your parading around like you own the place. You've let things go to your head, just because you've got Clarence."

Dean was befuddled by the mention of the name, unaware that Miggs had so little tolerance for Castiel that he had invented a name for him. To Miggs, 'Castiel' was as much of an invention as any name he came up with. Real people weren't named Castiel. "Don't get greedy. This faggot is mine, so turn your pretty little ass around," the blond suggested, "because you're boring me. I'm so bored, I could just slit a throat."

Dean made a run for it and his interruption caused Miggs to hesitate long enough for Charlie to move his hand a few inches forward. The next instants were odd flashes to Dean. Miggs' body convulsed, he gagged on his own saliva, and then fell to the ground as a shaking mass. Charlie stood over him with his mouth agape, and he brought a quivering hand to his neck to feel the shallow cut on his skin.

"What just happened?" Dean gasped. He closed the space between them, bewildered by Miggs' sudden incapacitation. Charlie grabbed the shank that had fallen from his tormenter and threw it as far away as he could to remove the danger of the sharpened object.

"I wasn't sure if that would work. I had this on my belt the whole time," Charlie panted. Slowly, he revealed an item made of metal, wires, and other miscellaneous parts. Dean thought it looked like a piece of junk. In triumph, yet still terrified, Charlie proclaimed, "I ain't a damsel in distress!"

To punctuate his words, he stepped one foot on Miggs' face, adopting a pose of success. In reply, Miggs could only groan, drool, and shake. His shaking was enough to scare Charlie into to stepping back again. Happy and astonished, Dean pointed at Charlie's weapon of choice, "But what is that thing?"

"Oh, it's just something I put together from bits of stuff I found lying around. It's like a cattle prod, but for humans. _Much_ stronger. This is the first time I've used it." Still bleeding, Charlie breathlessly explained the device, "It sends electricity across two electrodes to deliver a shock to the nervous system. Neat, huh? You distracted him long enough for me to reach for it."

Charlie placed a grateful hand on his friend's shoulder and offered him a misty smile. His glasses were still foggy from the trauma of being assaulted. He could not have been more thankful for Dean's presence.

"That's incredible. _You're_ incredible," Dean answered and then looked down at the prostrate figure at their feet. A ponderous expression took over his features. "Could I try it?"

The body beneath them inhaled a staggering gulp of air. Miggs was trying to move, but he couldn't.

"No, Dean! It's not a toy. Used enough times, it could cause a cardiac arrest," Charlie put the weapon away. "This is experimental and it has to charge anyway."

"Okay," Dean answered in disappointment. "What were you doing out here anyway?"

"I'm supposed to be fixing the elevator," Charlie answered. The longer they stood around Miggs' body, the more nervous he became. He didn't know how long the shock would keep the inmate out of commission. "What do we do with him now?"

"I was gonna go with shocking him again, but if we can't do that…"

"What? Don't look at me! I didn't really think too far ahead. Or at all."

"Don't worry about it, buddy. Go fix the elevator and I'll do something about this." Charlie was eager to move away from the scene so he obeyed without question. Dean tossed him the cleanest rag he had on his body for Charlie to use as a bandage and he remained alone with Miggs. Dean wasn't the same when Charlie wasn't there to watch him.

There were some things honorable men were not supposed to do. Kicking a man while he was down was one of them. Yet, as he watched the evil man writhing beneath him, Dean could only remember the past. Miggs reminded Dean of chains, pain, blood, and humiliation. This man was capable of violence that didn't deserve honorable punishments.

The blonde was crawling on the gravel when Dean landed his first swift kick to his stomach. His second kick made the other male retch a slurry of bile and blood. Dean didn't mind getting vomit on his shoes to kick Miggs in his face. In fact, the sight of the pinkish goo made him supremely happy. Dean noted a tooth in the fluid and it only spiked his lust for more blood.

Miggs blacked out for a few moments, so Dean waited. He wanted to save his punches for a time when the convict could really feel them. As soon as he came to, Dean picked him up and shook him, "Rise and shine."

Dean's punches bruised ribs and cracked cheekbones. Miggs' mouth soon became a bloody gash and his nose a giant, red wound. Miggs tried to spit on Dean, but could only dribble drool down his chin because his tongue still sizzled in his mouth.

"How does it feel, huh?" Dean was maniacal in his rage. He wasn't trying to kill him just yet, but he knew he was getting to the edge. Miggs got a sudden burst of energy to be able to stagger a few feet away, but it wasn't far enough. Dean clawed at his flesh, tearing off his pants and his shoes. "You like this part."

Dean left Miggs naked below the waist. Looking up, he saw a pole that he knew had only one destiny. Dean dragged the flailing man over to the flagpole and stripped him of the rest of his clothing. With a skill he had learned from the man before him, Dean tied Miggs to the pole with his own shirt. "You like the part where they can't move."

_I think I do too._

Dean pummeled the naked, skinny body in front of him until he was almost chuckling with satisfaction. No matter how Dean hurt him, Miggs didn't weep. Only a being with a soul was capable of tears. Instead, he moaned and made beastly sounds liked a cornered animal. Covered in Miggs' blood, Dean leaned his forehead against the man that so repelled him. "I said I would kill you, didn't I?"

Dean contemplated. He dug into his pocket to reveal his beautiful Zippo lighter. How flammable was blood? The same question rang in Miggs' consciousness and he gurgled something that was impossible to understand. Dean flicked the lighter on with difficulty due to the gory muck on his hands. At least, Dean knew body fat was very flammable.

"I'm thinking about burning you alive to send you straight to Hell," Dean confessed. As he spoke, his green eyes were aglow with wrath. Standing next to the garage that was full of gasoline, he knew it could be easily done. Instead, he fried the skin by Miggs' neck that corresponded to where he had cut Charlie.

"But I won't."

Miggs tried to scream, but it came out pitiful and muffled. Dean put his lighter away and forced the man's head against the cold pole. "Listen to me. Listen to me!" Dean kept ferocious eye contact, "Don't you _ever_ touch Charlie again."

There was a gush of a response that Dean was able to translate accurately. _Or what? You'll kill me?_

"No, no, no! I won't kill you. I wouldn't do that to you," Dean shook his head. "No. I'll find every one of your hooks and your knives and I'll do to you what you taught me so well. I'd leave you alive, tied down and bleeding, somewhere dark where they wouldn't find you for hours."

He gave the blonde a minute to let his threat settle in.

"Is that a good deal?" Dean asked. He bashed Miggs' head against the pole, finishing their conversation.

When he stepped back to admire his handiwork, he didn't feel an iota of remorse. He was going to leave him tied there, knowing full well that someone worse might find him. Someone worse was what Miggs deserved, he thought. Dean walked away from the unconscious rapist to pick up his pants. He used the garments to wipe off his hands and then he threw them into the bin in the garage.

By the time Charlie reemerged from his completing his job, Dean had cleaned up his workspace. The Ford was spotless and his tools were in perfect order. All the while, Miggs remained broken and bleeding just outside the garage behind him.

"Dean, is everything okay?" Charlie asked from the side of the garage opposite to where he had been accosted. The instant he rushed to the garage, Dean hurried the redhead away from the scene of the beating to keep him from seeing the remnants of Miggs. Dean didn't regret the carnage, but he kept it from Charlie anyway.

"It's fine. I told you I'd take care of it."

"Gee, thanks," Charlie sighed. He was pale, with beads of sweat on his forehead. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Dean shrugged and the corners of his lips crept upwards. "How's the cut?"

"Oh, good. The bleeding stopped after I put some pressure on it," Charlie answered. It had been a close call. "What did you do with him?"

"Don't worry about it. Let's take a walk." Dean put his hand on Charlie's shoulder and kept him walking with a purpose. "Is this the first time he's done this?"

Charlie nodded. "I'm usually around Gabriel or you. And, I dunno. Maybe I've just been lucky? Thanks for whatever you did, really. For everything. I know you didn't have to."

"Like hell. We're family." Dean was still so livid he couldn't contain it from his countenance.

"W-We are?" Charlie stopped and looked at Dean with an earnest expression of admiration. He noted blood splatter on Dean's face and wondered if this was what it was like to have a brother.

"Of course," Dean answered easily. "Family don't end with blood. If you're ever in a bind, you can count on me."

Charlie took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt. He couldn't speak.

"He had no right doing what he did," Dean said with iron sternness. "Or saying what he said. Insulting you with lies about you being a faggot. It makes me sick!"

"He's not the only one that says that."

This set Dean off again. "Who else is talking shit about you?"

"Everyone," Charlie frowned. Certainly, the Winchester must have known. Charlie was so used to being teased that he thought it was apparent to everyone. "Well, not _everyone_ everyone, but a lot of people. It doesn't bother me that much. I've gotten used to it over the years."

Charlie was a pretty convincing liar. Dean was distracted by the idea that Charlie, for _years_ , had had his manhood questioned. His troubles had begun well before he had been imprisoned, which was a head-scratcher for Dean. The truth was, before Dick Roman had smeared his character with accusations of 'sexual perversion' among other things, people had been questioning and bullying Charlie over his lack of interest in women. "I thought you knew."

"Knew what? About the bullshit? God damn it! How did this rumor start?"

Charlie's train of thought halted. "Well, it's not… it's not entirely untrue. I mean that, uh, suspicion. It's not… it's not a rumor if it's a known fact, is it?"

"What?" Dean stared at Charlie for so long it made the redhead uncomfortable. Then, in a jolt of elucidation, Dean blurted out, "You're a fairy?"

A smack collided with his face just as soon as the words had left his mouth. Charlie stood with his throbbing hand still in the air. He was astonished that he had just slapped Dean, but he didn't apologize. Charlie stuck to his guns. "Don't call me that. Not you too, Dean."

"I'm sorry." Dean recoiled and cradled his stinging cheek. He was so stunned by the revelation. 'Fairy' was a much kinder word than 'faggot,' and kindness had been what Dean had been aiming for. "Sorry, I just don't know what to call you. What am I supposed to call you?"

"Charlie," the male responded. "That's all you ever have to call me. I'm a man, like any other man. I just happen to only be attracted to other males."

Such an admission out loud was staggering to Dean. Never in his life had he met a man that had claimed he was exclusively attracted to men. He had had doubts before, but even the men that made him doubt, also bedded women. Balthazar had been one such man. He had teased, but had always had stories about women to counter his bold, homoerotic flirtations.

"Please stop staring at me like that." Charlie hadn't expected Dean of all people to react like this. Dean blinked.

"You've never been attracted to women?" Dean asked. " _Any_ woman? Really?"

"Really."

"You mean to tell me, you've never fucked a broad?"

"No!"

" _Ever?_ "

Charlie walked away and Dean pursued him. "But you're such a regular, stand-up guy!"

Charlie threw his head back with a groan, "I'm still a stand-up guy. Just one that only likes other guys!"

"Shh! Don't say that so loud! Someone might hear you." Dean behaved as though Charlie's words were in danger of conjuring up some dark forces that would blacken them both. Since he could remember, Dean had heard homosexuality was an aberration or an impossibility, like a monster under a child's bed. Yet, one of his dearest friends firmly claimed the status. Now that he knew homosexuality was possible, he was determined to protect Charlie's secret.

There it was, Charlie thought. Dean's repression was clearer than the blue of the sky. Never in his life did Charlie think he had observed denial so deeply embedded into a person's psyche. Charlie was in awe of it, and yet not altogether surprised because there times he was certain the world operated under a form of mass delirium. He couldn't be totally offended by Dean's words because he felt so sorry for him. "Dean, have you never thought of this before?"

"Thought about what? You? No! Never! Not in a million years." When he spoke, Dean thought he was paying Charlie compliments, "You're a good guy! I always thought you were just a normal, good guy."

"Wow, thanks. No, I mean it," Charlie grumbled. _I've heard worse._ He would have laughed, but there were a multitude of remarkable, heartbreaking things occurring. This was going to be difficult, but he believed the moment was now. Charlie brought a pensive hand to his chin before he continued, "Don't you ever wonder… haven't you ever wondered about Castiel?"

Dean didn't respond for lack of knowing how.

"You've never wondered even once if he could be like me?" Charlie asked.

"You mean like…" Dean waved a hand, awkwardly avoiding any f-words. He was lacking in words to describe this topic almost as much as he was lacking in knowledge. These were the types of conversations people didn't have, not on the outside or the inside. Such suggestions barely existed outside of schoolyard taunts and cruel degradations of a man's enemies.

"He's never talked about women, has he?" Charlie spoke quietly to ease Dean's dread.

"No." Dean swallowed. "But he doesn't remember anything about his past."

"Do you think he would go on to find a woman if he were free?" Charlie asked. "Would that make you happy?"

Again, Dean was struck wordless.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything," Charlie rubbed the back of his head. "It doesn't matter, huh?"

They started walking again and Dean finally came up with a response. "Yeah, I guess it would make me happy. If it made him happy, it would make me happy. I got no right stopping him from doing whatever he wants. I could see him with a wife."

The way Dean grit his teeth and avoided meeting Charlie's eyes, indicated otherwise to Charlie. Dean changed the subject. "I still mean every word of what I said to you. No matter what your, uh, preference, I have your back."

"I know." With that, Charlie smiled again.

* * *

News of Charlie's assault infuriated Gabriel and Cas. Miggs was lucky he was in the infirmary because he wouldn't have lasted another hour if the two had found him. Charlie talked as little about what had transpired as he could because he wanted to forget. Of course, it wasn't only luck that had spared Charlie from violence for so long. Gabriel had eyes everywhere, but they had managed to fail him that day. He made a mental note to have a talk with his hired muscle and spies.

Charlie went on, acting as normally as he possibly could, but Dean couldn't. He kept thinking about the short conversation he'd had with Charlie. Charlie wasn't at all what he had imagined a homosexual male would be like. He wasn't incredibly masculine, but neither was he effeminate. Charlie was, and always would be, his friend before he was anything else.

Dean loved Charlie and only thought more highly of him since admitting his preference because Charlie was honest, trusting, and brave to reveal such a secret to him. The main thing Dean knew about non-hetero sexual orientation was that having 'homosexual proclivities' rendered a man undesirable for service. He wondered how many times he would have been dishonorably discharged if he had met Castiel abroad while at war. He dug himself into a deep hole whenever he thought about what life would have been like if he'd met Cas on the outside because he couldn't unsee the other man's allure now that he had enjoyed Cas on an intimate level.

For all he knew, Dean may have had more sex with men lately than Charlie had. All Dean's thoughts on the topic always returned to him and Cas, and Dean did not like that at all. He disliked it so much, he stole away the rubber band ball from the library to squeeze and toss it wherever he happened to wander.

 _You're not a faggot_. He would never use the word in front of Charlie again, but he did degrade himself with it internally. Dean knew with certainly that he was still attracted to women, yet he was so afraid of being associated with the word. Back and forth, Dean argued. Over the hours that had passed since his conversation with Charlie, he had thought about what he would have said to Charlie if he had asked him about his preferences. _The only man I want is Cas_ , he would say. _Cas and me is a special circumstance._

Without women, he had no choice but to be with a man, unless he wanted to be celibate for decades. Castiel was obviously the only choice for him. They were best friends that knew how the other liked to be fucked, and there was no good reason to avoid something that felt so good. That was different than being a faggot. Still, no matter how well he convinced himself, Dean continued to feel it was a struggle.

"Thank God for that prod of Charlie's."

The sound of Castiel's voice prompted Dean to sit up straight in his bed with a gasp of alarm. As ever, Castiel walked in like Dean's space was his own. He sat on the bed of his cell and caught the rubber band ball as Dean tossed it in the air.

"We've had this discussion before," Dean complained. "I ain't about to thank God. Thank Charlie and Charlie's brains. God doesn't deserve the credit."

"Right." Cas tossed the ball back to Dean with a smirk. "It's an extraordinary device. He showed it to me. I have studied so many things, but Charlie has a grasp on technology that I don't think I will ever have."

"He is something else," Dean reclined back on his bed. He stretched his legs out on Castiel's lap not because they were a cozy couple, but because it was always so comfortable to rest like this.

_Ask him about women._

"He told me he was thinking about naming it Mjölnir," Cas mused.

"Mew-what?" Dean started.

"Mjölnir, after Thor's hammer. Interesting choice, I thought." Cas leaned back against the wall of Dean's cell and set his hand on top of Dean's legs. "You know he names every piece of technology he makes? Every gadget. Like they're people."

"Does he?"

"Mmhm." Cas began to slide his hand beneath Dean's pants to feel over his ankle and the intimate touch gave Dean such a shock that he kicked his foot up just enough to remove the hand. "Dean? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Why would something be wrong?"

"You have the ball." Castiel gestured to the rubber mass. Dean promptly hid the ball under his pillow. Instead of taking the cue to stop touching Dean, Cas eased forward and leaned on top of him. "Does it have something to do with me? This secret of yours?"

"You're pretty vain, huh? The world doesn't revolve around you. And it's not a secret." This was a battle Dean could feel himself already losing because Cas simply became more tempting with every inch he subtracted between them.

Sarcastically, Cas replied, "Of course not. That's why you're telling me."

Since kissing information out of Dean had worked so well in the past, Castiel attempted it again. He pressed their lips together. Dean's arm hooked around his neck as he responded. Cas had heat he could never reject, no matter how much he wished to reject every implication associated with it. Castiel's hand pushed his shirt away from his skin and he was soon sucking and licking over his chest with love. His teeth caught Dean's nipple, while his hand strummed the inside of his thigh.

"How many wives do you have?" Dean gasped, dumbly. _Nope. That wasn't the thing I meant to say._ He pressed his eyes closed in embarrassment.

Castiel's head lifted and he gave Dean an unbelieving stare. Was that a metaphor for something? Cas brushed Dean's chin with his finger to get his attention. "You think I have multiple wives? Like a harem? Is this a riddle?"

"No." Dean pulled down his shirt because the conversation he had inadvertently started was going to be harder to have with Castiel's mouth on his body. "I didn't mean 'wives,' just 'wife.' Singular. Have you ever had one?"

Seeing that Dean was serious, Castiel propped himself up. "On the outside? You know I don't remember anything from before."

"Okay, but do you think you might have had one? Or a girlfriend, maybe?"

"No," Cas answered so quickly that it made Dean believe Charlie had been onto something about Cas. He was honestly also very relieved.

"How can you be so sure?"

"A woman couldn't have loved me," Cas explained. He didn't like this conversation. Women were such a foreign topic for him. Cas might not have even remembered what women looked like if not for the movies. "I know that for a fact, without having to remember."

"What about prostitutes? You think you might have had a taste for whores?"

"No!" Castiel's eyes went wide. His imaginings of a whorehouse constructed an anxiety-laden nightmare for him. "I wouldn't be caught dead in a den of iniquity!"

Dean began to shake with laughter. That was an interesting response. Murder was not only possible for Castiel, but sometimes justified, and yet prostitution was beneath him. "You are all kinds of messed up," Dean remarked.

"Why? Is that the kind of thing you like?" Castiel couldn't even say the word. _Prostitutes_.

"I'm a soldier," Dean shrugged. He had gone to a handful of brothels, but never indulged after his marriage no matter how much he had been tempted. "I'm not saying I fucked them overseas, but the other fellas sure did and I was around. Honest! But, before the war and before I was married – that's another story."

Castiel narrowed his eyes.

"I didn't _have_ to pay for sex. I just did a couple of times to see what it was like. I was a kid and that's what kids do," Dean looked away. The conversation was veering away from Cas in a way he regretted. "Anyway, I was curious about you. I've been wondering about it, is all. Can you really be sure you've never fucked a whore? If you don't remember the past, you can't be _that_ sure."

"If you know I can't remember, I don't know why you bother to ask at all." Castiel's face was a mask.

"Okay, alright! But give the prostitutes a break, will ya? I'm pretty sure Jesus was down with whores. That's somewhere in The Book. You're supposed to love everyone. Hookers included."

"Don't talk to me about the Word of God."

"Oh, touchy. I'll talk to you about whatever I like." Dean winked. He pulled Castiel down and kissed the side of his face. "You and a wife. I bet you'd get a wife so fast out in the real world."

"Stop it."

"A woman could definitely love you." Dean ruffled Cas' hair. "I think you're selling yourself short, buddy. You were probably a ladies' man and you didn't even know it."

"I doubt that with all my heart."

"Some poor woman probably went to bed thinking about you, fantasizing about you popping the question."

"Dean," Castiel groaned. "I wouldn't subject a woman to that kind of misery."

"You mean marriage, or you?"

"Me."

Castiel tried to pull away but Dean held him near. Castiel was right. This was misery, but it was absolutely the best kind.

* * *

The next couple of days, Dean concocted a variety of back-stories for Cas. Every single one included a girlfriend or a woman suffering from unrequited love. He always envisioned Castiel in serious professions. He saw Cas as a lawyer, a city council member, a chemist, a surgeon, a professor, and a high school principal. None of his fantasies amused Castiel and that made Dean happy for the most selfish of reasons. He kept trying to invent women that might attract Cas and inwardly rejoiced when each one struck Cas as impossible.

"I know what a dominatrix is, Dean!" Castiel's face was flushed as Dean had carried his new game to the mess hall for lunch. "What on earth makes you think I could be interested in a dominatrix?"

"Now, hang on a minute. Dean might be onto something," Gabriel intruded. The game had gotten all the more humiliating when Dean had included the shorter male. "You can be pretty dominating, Cassie. You'd be two of a kind with a dominatrix. I can see it."

"Where'd you learn what a dominatrix is?" Dean pried.

"It's in the dictionary," Cas answered. _A_ _woman who physically or psychologically_ _dominates_ _her partner in a sadomasochistic encounter;_ _broadly_ _ **:**_ _a_ _dominating_ _woman_ _._ Castiel was having trouble concentrating on his food with all the questions. "I know I read about one in a book once."

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "I'm checking out that book."

"It wasn't explicit," Cas remarked. "You wouldn't like it."

"Not explicit? Than what's the point?"

Cas angrily bit into a piece of meat. "You've gone through every kind of woman imaginable. I think we've finished."

Charlie observed with a knowing expression. He hadn't expected Dean to grill Cas about women after their talk. A part of him felt bad that he had inadvertently added to Cas' suffering, but the conversation had been so hilarious to witness that his regret wasn't too profound.

"C'mon, fellas. He would never be with a dominatrix. It's like you don't even know Cas," Charlie said, and Castiel gave him a thankful nod. His relief vanished when Charlie elaborated, "He would be with a female athlete! A modern woman that wears pants and plaid. A whisky-drinking, drag racing hell-raiser. Or maybe a female pilot, like Amelia Earhart or a WASP."

"Yes! Exactly!" Dean pointed excitedly. "That's exactly what I meant! Shy girls are a definite no, but dominatrix is a touch too far. A gusty gal though, that's the ticket."

"Cas and a tomboy feminist boozehound?" Gabriel mulled the suggestion over. "Hmm, I guess they could talk philosophy. But Cas is pretty traditional, so a woman like that would just be pushing his buttons all the time."

"No, but he likes a good argument," Charlie contended. "It would be good for him to be with a daring dame that could get him out of his shell."

"Alright, _maybe_. Only if she was an absolute bearcat," Gabriel nodded. "All legs and a tight pussy. Red lipstick."

"Blonde," Dean added. "She'd have to be blonde."

Castiel was the first to leave the mess hall and he left a flustered mess, followed only by the aggravating laughter of his friends. "Dean-o, you're gonna be in the doghouse tonight," Gabriel beamed. "Here, have a ciggy for the laughs."

"Thanks." Dean took the cigarette and tucked it behind his ear. He looked off into the direction Castiel had gone, worried that perhaps they had pestered him too much. Dean would find some way to apologize later. He waved to his friends and decided he would take the scenic route to the library. He hadn't gotten more than a few yards away from the doors of the mess hall when a hideous face confronted him. Dean made a sound of disgust.

Miggs was standing before him looking like a beaten hound. He had more cuts on his face than Dean had remembered inflicting upon him and an air of pure vengeance. Miggs' face was swollen and painted with more red and purple than white. He had torn himself from the infirmary bed early just to be able to catch Dean in that moment.

"What do you want?" Dean spat. The blond shuffled forward like a creature from a horror flick to invade Dean's personal space.

"I don't care about Charlie," he said with rank breath. "It's always been you, Dean. He was just a stand-in, like everyone else. If you think I'm going to give up so easy, you've got another thing comin'."

"Back off." Dean shoved him.

"My grandmother hits harder than you! This – This is nothing!" Miggs grinned, baring inflamed gums. A piece of bloody cotton was lodged in the space that used to hold a tooth. "I am just waiting for the day, and it is gonna be so sweet."

He was crazed, Dean thought. His veins must have been pumped full of some drug or other that made him more irrational than typical. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"When Cas fries, you'll be up for grabs again. I'll fuck you hard and often. Just like the good ol' days. I'll be waitin – "

Dean slugged Miggs so hard across his face that his eardrums vibrated. Miggs let out a piercing yelp of pain and clutched his wounded face. Staggering, Miggs readjusted his facial bones with unnerving pops. He pulled the piece of cotton from his mouth, stunned by the amount of blood covering it. Then, he launched himself at Dean and the pair wrestled until Miggs was able to find his footing. He balled up a fist and was a split second away from pulling a punch when, suddenly, all his fingers relaxed as his attention shifted. He twitched and shuffled away from the furious, panting Winchester.

"Hey there, Your Highness," Miggs addressed the figure a few steps behind Dean with a half-assed bow. His stilted body language screamed of fear, but his grin was as unhinged and cocky as ever. "Dean and I were just talking – chit-chatting."

Naturally, it was Castiel who had joined their audience. Dean didn't even have to turn to know. In a drawn out moment, Miggs patted Dean's shoulder with as gentle a hand as he could manage. "We laughed, we cried, and we were just about to shake hands to put our differences aside." Miggs extended a hand. "Right, Dean?"

Dean glanced back to Cas, smug as hell to have him in his corner. Dean could have bested Miggs so easily then, but he was dying to see what Cas would do. "I don't think that's what I heard," Dean answered, ignoring the extended hand. "Sounded like he said he was going to fuck me. Is that what you heard, Cas?"

Castiel's mouth flattened into a thin, small line. Dean didn't know how the blue-eyed male always found him when it really counted, but he was pleased and excited by his presence. Castiel moved so quickly that he startled Dean. Miggs simply disappeared from his line of sight in the blink of an eye.

Castiel lugged the thrashing convict away from Dean with a strong arm wrapped around his neck like a vise. Castiel heaved Miggs along by his neck up the stairs and Dean chased after them. Castiel's captive punched and kicked, but his struggle did nothing to slow Castiel. "Let me go! Hey! You're not gonna kill me," Miggs wheezed. "Not in front of the guards. _Guards!_ "

Nobody came. Miggs' panic began to rise steadily and Cas squeezed his throat more tightly to muffle any future screams. It wasn't fair, Miggs thought. He hadn't harmed Dean. "I didn't lay a finger on your bitch!" he cried, still kicking. He was in immense pain, but he wouldn't give up his fight.

When Cas squeezed again, Miggs' vision went white for a moment. Now limp, his body thudded against the steps until they were finally on the second floor. Dean watched, wishing to urge Castiel on. He was actually eager to see Cas kill, and began to wager that Cas would either break his neck or strangle the life out of Miggs. To his surprise, Cas did neither.

Instead, he took Miggs to the rail along the edge of the balcony and effortlessly hoisted him over the bars. Some people might have believed that the feat was miraculous, considering Cas was slightly shorter, but Dean knew Cas was capable of flooring men far larger. Lifting the beanpole of a man was a breeze for Cas.

Breathless, Miggs' feet dangled over nothing but air for a few seconds before his toes landed on the edge of the balcony. There, he met Cas' eyes. They were dark with a heartlessness that made the palms of Miggs' hands begin to sweat. At any moment, the convict on the wrong side of the railing was in danger of losing balance and falling. "Okay, alright." Miggs placed his greasy hands over Castiel's arms. "You've had your fun. Joke's over."

Castiel's visage was the antithesis of laughing.

"I only have three rules." Castiel held Miggs in place with a solid grip. "They aren't difficult to follow."

"I didn't hurt him," Miggs pleaded. "If anything, he hurt _me!_ Can't you see my face? Your pet is fucking spotless! Don't do it!"

Unmoved by his entreaty, Cas took his time to look down to the floor below Miggs' precariously placed toes. Many people were afraid of heights, he had been told. Miggs was at least smart enough not to look down. When Cas moved Miggs further away, Miggs thought it was all or nothing. With a practiced slight of hand, the dangling blond produced a weapon and stabbed Castiel's forearm. From the side, Dean gasped.

A scalpel was protruding from Cas' arm and a swell of blood began to drench his shirtsleeve. Yet, Castiel didn't let go. Miggs' escape plan failed and he wriggled pitifully.

"Kill that slimy bastard!" Dean shouted.

"Don't you dare!" A new voice interfered. This voice belonged to the uniformed body of Andréal, and it was followed by a click that Dean knew too well. The young guard had a pistol aimed directly at Castiel.

 _Oh, shit_. Dean tried to inch closer to Cas, but Andréal barked in his direction.

"Stay where you are, Dean!"

This wasn't the same babyish face he had seen upon first entering the prison. Andréal wore a mask of duty and resolve. His hands didn't quiver as he held the gun.

"Don't shoot, please. Cas…" Dean addressed his friend who seemed to be in another world. "Hang on a minute, alright? Buddy, he's got a gun."

This was the end of Cas, Dean thought. Castiel was going to die because a man had dared to threaten him. Cas seemed completely indifferent to all of the men around him. He bled on, thinking of God only knew what.

"He's going to shoot you," Miggs gloated in a happy whisper that only Castiel could hear. He didn't mind dying now, not if it meant Cas would go with him. _Bang, bang._

"Drop him, Castiel!" Andréal bellowed.

Finally, Castiel inclined his head in the direction of the guard. "Is that an order?"

There was a collective intake of breath as Castiel released Miggs, giving him the slightest of taps to send him rushing to the ground. The inmates gathered on the first floor cried out following the sound of the splat. Cas turned away from the balcony to face Andréal, whose hands _were_ shaking now. Wordlessly, Cas pulled the scalpel from his forearm, letting blood gush to his feet. Andréal was about to give Castiel another order, but the male voluntarily let the scalpel fall to the ground with a clink before he could be commanded to.

"My pleasure," Castiel said and a gang of guards seized him.

"Shit!" Dean exhaled into his hand that he only now realized had been covering his mouth. _Fuck, fuck! What did you do?_ Castiel didn't put up a fight against the guards that were on top of him. When he was being hauled away, Cas acknowledged Dean, at last, with a fleeting, but powerful look.

_When Cas fries, you'll be up for grabs again._

_When Cas fries._

"Cas! What did he mean?" Dean followed the men. By that moment, there was tremendous commotion. "He said you were going to fry! What did he mean by that? Cas!"

Cas flicked his blues to the floor, and, in a swift explosion of energy, landed a mighty punch directly across Uriel's face. Instinctively, Uriel clubbed him so hard Cas was knocked out cold in a flash.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment Castiel is taken away, Dean begins to sink into a depression. During Castiel's absence, Dean butts heads with Gabriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Look at me! I didn't take three months to update this time! :) I came back~ Before I finished writing and editing this chapter, I went back to re-read the entire fic to make sure I wasn't missing anything, and whoa did I ever find some stupid typos/errors. I tried to fix everything I saw, but I think maybe this version is the cleanest. Still, all three of the versions of this story I have posted various places are about identical. Sorry about the dumb errors!
> 
> A musical note: the song "Summertime" by George Gershwin shows up in this chapter. It was written in 1935 and has been covered thousands of times by loads of people. But, recently, I like [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q_fk-d7v-O4) modern interpretation by Kat Edmonson. This song is supposed to be sad even though the lyrics seem happy at a glance.
> 
> Alright, I hope you like this chapter. I will try to bring you more ASAP. Also, I promise this chapter does not end with Uriel beating up Cas.

* * *

A slender body clad in gray lay upon the slate colored pavement, legs bent at odd angles. If not for the stock of bright blonde hair on his head and the vivid red seeping from Miggs' pale face, the convict would have blended into the ground where he had taken a dive. He was absolutely still with his eyes closed to the spectators that surrounded him.

There was a hush over the crowd as they regarded the warning that had been violently flung down upon them. Not a single man doubted that Castiel would litter the entire prison with gray and red bodies if anything happened to Dean. They knew he feared neither bullets nor what came in the afterlife. The only thing that eclipsed Castiel's fearlessness was his love for Dean.

Then, suddenly, Miggs' eyes flipped wide open and he inhaled a terrible breath that chilled the bones of the prisoners around him. _I'm alive_. The lights overheard blurred into his vision. Miggs laughed a soft laugh that was almost as painful to hear as it must have been for him to force out of his lungs. "I am everlasting," he croaked. "These fucking homos are _so_ bad at killing me."

What Miggs found funny was gruesome and unbearable to others. He was pitiful to observe. _I can't move my legs._ Miggs tried to lift up his neck to look at his misbehaving limbs, and couldn't accomplish the feat without searing pain. He panted and labored to breathe. "My legs," he cried. _My legs!_ Shock was settling in. "He broke my fucking legs!"

The cries of agony that came from his lips were horrendous, and yet not a soul volunteered to help him. Rather, like a single entity, the mass of inmates looked up to watch Dean walk over to the railing as he was drawn to the screams. Dean Winchester, the man of the hour, gave Miggs a look of grave contempt.

The brew of emotions in his heart couldn't be expressed by any words. The momentary glint that passed into his eyes suggested that he was prepared to walk down the stairs to finish what Castiel had begun. Unfortunately, as Dean watched Miggs, Dr. Devereaux ran to the scene as quickly as his emphysema would allow.

"Let him die," Dean said. Apart from Miggs' sounds of suffering, the air was so silent that his words echoed in the chambers. The doctor glanced up at Dean with an expression that said he would have loved to do exactly that. Behind his thick, black-rimmed glasses was a look of deep knowledge, none of which was favorable to Miggs. Duty bound, the doctor eventually focused on his patient.

Castiel was gone, Miggs was alive, and Dean was alone. He couldn't stay to watch the doctor lend aide to his nemesis. With his hands in his pockets, Dean sauntered away with a face of stone to the place he had come to associate with peace.

* * *

In the library, Dean sat in the chair he remembered having sat in the first time Castiel had ever spoken to him. He folded his hands over the table, trying not to think of Cas being beaten or dragged somewhere dark and far away. Worse still, Dean thought of Miggs' taunts. He wasn't stupid. Dean knew exactly what it meant for a convict to 'fry' and he needed to get to the bottom of the matter before he went insane. Before long, Gabriel rushed into the library.

" _Ese_ _hijo de puta!_ " Gabe snarled and began to pace. "That blonde _pendejo_ just fucked everything! The least he could do is have the decency to die!"

Dean didn't say anything. Gabriel tipped over a chair and found the action gave him no relief for all the troubles he knew were to come. Revenge on a chair wasn't about to bring Castiel back or cease the beating of Miggs' heart.

"Time and place!" Gabriel vented. "I've told him a hundred times, but no. Castielito doesn't listen. It's like he _enjoys_ being in the hole. They'll put him away for a long time for this."

Dean had guessed as much. If Castiel had gotten two weeks in the hole for a public announcement, he was likely to get double that much time or more for trying to carry out a public execution. Dean sunk his face into his hands. _God damn it_.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Gabriel gestured to Dean. "Aren't you going to tell me what happened? What did that bastard say to you?"

"He said Cas is going to fry."

 _Oh_. Gabriel's hand flew to the back of his head and he backed away. He had not been expecting that response. Gabriel's hesitation to comment on the matter brought about a torrent of suspicion from Dean and his eyes locked on the bearded male. Abruptly, Dean leapt out of his chair.

"You knew!" Dean shouted. "You son of a bitch! It's true, isn't it?"

Gabriel's instincts were to flee. The day of reckoning had finally come, so Gabe scrambled away as quickly as he could, knocking over books as Dean mercilessly pursued him. Dean caught him and pinned him to a bookshelf. The Winchester stared down at Gabriel for a long while, his nostrils flaring. "You damn well better tell me the truth, Gabriel," Dean smoldered, "And tell me now."

"I don't know what you're talking about. You know better than to listen to anything that piece of shit tells you."

"Is Cas on death row?"

Gabriel's eyes grew wide as his heart thudded in his chest. "Aren't we all? If you really think about it – "

"Cut the bullshit!" Dean barked so aggressively that Gabriel jumped within his grasp. This was the exact place Gabriel had always dreaded he would someday find himself.

"Well, you're a match made in Heaven. Talk about anger management issues…"

"Gabriel!" Dean squeezed the other man's shirtfront in a way that made Gabriel worry for his well being.

"I know it sounds bad, Dean. Just calm down a minute, alright?" Gabriel placed his hands gently on top of the Winchester's. "It's really not that big a deal."

_Not that big a deal?_

Dean growled, "You're telling me Cas frying to a crisp isn't a big deal to you?"

"He's not gonna fry," Gabriel answered. "Cas is special. He's been here thirteen years and he's still kickin'. I've got no reason to doubt he'll be going strong for thirteen more, at least."

"Cas is on death row," Dean repeated, disbelieving.

"Technically, yes."

Dean thought he was going to be sick. He couldn't say anything for a while, which was very uncomfortable for Gabriel, who was still firmly pressed to the shelf. "How is this not a big deal?"

"Listen, amigo. There are dozens of scumbags out there that die of old age waiting for their sentences to be carried out," Gabriel explained. "And those guys don't have lawyers half as good as Castiel's."

That answer wasn't good enough for Dean. "How? How is that possible?"

"Appeals," Gabriel hissed. He hated spilling to Dean and was ready to run so he boiled things down for Dean as hurriedly as possible. "He has this hotsy-totsy lawyer fella, Mr. Carter. The guy's a real bureaucrat that works some kind of legal magic, I tell ya. He's got an eye for detail and puts up the most complicated appeals you can imagine to stall things. Cas'll be one hundred before he sits his ass on any chair."

Dean felt a small amount of relief, but he was full of so much confusion and turmoil that he wasn't satisfied. "You've known about this ever since I got here and you never said anything?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Neither did Cas."

His words stung Dean deeply. He was going to suffer over that later, when he was alone. Now, Dean just wanted to deal with Gabriel and get all the information out of him that he could while he had him within his clutches. "Am I the only one that didn't know about this?"

"I don't know!" Gabriel whined. "I know. Charlie doesn't know. Death has known for longer than I have. I can't keep track of what everyone knows. Will you let me go now?"

"No!" Dean cried. His mind was rushing, and he had so many questions it was difficult to just pick one. Agitated, Dean rambled, "Cas said something else. When he was talking to Miggs he said he only had three rules. What the fuck does that mean? Since when does Cas have rules? What are they?"

Gabriel blew out a low gust of air. Dean really didn't know shit, but then, that was all part of the rules. "Why don't you ask Cas when he gets out?"

Lies and evasion. That was what Dean had become accustomed to hearing whenever he wanted to know more about Cas. Even men that had wanted to talk, like Martin Creaser, had only had the courage to give him the most cryptic of messages. Dean remembered the way Martin had turned white at the sight of Cas and then skedaddled like a deer that had just heard the snap of a branch. Was it possible Gabriel was just like all of the other guys?

"You're afraid of him."

"Yeah, right!" Gabriel laughed. "As if! Me afraid of Cas."

"Then why don't you tell me his fucking rules?" When Dean challenged him, Gabriel paused to consider what he could get away with telling Dean. Gabe faced real problems because, although Dean was a tenacious, hotheaded ruffian, Gabriel liked him a lot. He bent to Dean like he wouldn't have with almost anyone else.

" _Fine_ ," Gabriel met Dean's hard gaze. "Rule Number One: Don't touch Dean. Two: Don't tell the secret. Three: Don't pick fights with Cas."

 _I'm Rule Number One?_ Dean frowned. "What secret?"

"How should I know? I'm just the messenger!" Gabriel tried to fight his way out of Dean's hands. "All I do is make sure all the guys know the rules. C'mon, let me go!"

"Gabe, tell me the God damned secret, for fuck's sake!" Dean shook the other man. "This isn't a game."

"I wish it was!" Gabriel spat in reply. "I'm not telling you anything else. I've already said too much. Ask Cas."

"I can't ask him! I don't know when he's going to come back. Just tell me. Please."

The secret was supposed to be kept from Dean, more than anyone else, but Gabriel didn't feel the need to tell the Winchester that. Miggs had broken two rules at once and he had a series of broken bones and internal hemorrhaging to show for it. "You wouldn't like it."

"Please, Gabe. I'm beggin' you." The way Dean's voice faltered as he held him firm within his grasp softened the other man's heart. Again, Gabriel lost more ground to Dean.

"You already know half of it because that bastard Miggs couldn't keep his trap shut," Gabriel condemned the crippled inmate once more. "Nobody is supposed to talk about his sentence."

"Well, now I know so I might as well know it all. What's the other half?"

"I'll never tell," Gabriel said unequivocally. "You can rough me up. You can string me up by my toes. You can eat all my candy. But, I swear on my sweet Maman I will never tell. I'm a lot of things, Dean. Handsome, likeable, talented. One thing I am not is a rat."

"I deserve to know, whatever it is," Dean sniffled. He tried to think of what it could possibly be. What kind of secret was Cas always keeping from him? Dean gulped. "It's his crime, isn't it? If he's going to die for something, I want to know what for."

"And I explained to you that I'll never tell. Never. Don't bother trying to ask around either. You'll only get silence and tall tales."

Dean was flummoxed. Gabriel, now, was more than a carefree blabbermouth. Dean had found the one thing even he wasn't eager to share. "Why are you doing this?" Dean questioned.

"If Castiel is the king, I'm his right hand man and making sure nobody knows the truth is part of my job. I've spun so many realities every dumb fuck out there thinks he _knows_. Boy, have I got a story for everyone. Maybe he beheaded a dozen nuns? Or, my personal favorite these days… He burned down a Catholic school full of children," Gabriel grinned. "I keep the myth alive. Every story I've got is something _ungodly_ and blood chilling, so might as well take your pick."

Dean felt cold and ill because he was swimming in so many lies he couldn't see straight. He remembered how Death had mentioned the school arson and could not believe that everything came back to Gabriel and Castiel's orders. _Castiel got rid of those papers for a reason._

"If every story is true, then maybe nothing is. I can barely remember myself," Gabriel said with an insolent shrug that drove Dean wild.

"Fuck, Gabe! Just tell me! I won't let you go until you do. I know you know. Why won't you just tell me?"

"Because he's in love with you!" Gabriel pulled out the exact phrase that he knew would stump Dean and get him to lower his guard. Gabriel slipped out of his grasp. "And because he's my brother. You talk about Sammy all the time. You think I don't want to protect my family too?"

Dean was still hearing the proclamation of love made on Castiel's behalf like a blaring clarion in his brain. The notion that Castiel could love him like the lovers of the songs that Gabriel always sang made Dean feel weak. Gabriel stood up straight with pride and resolve. "It was you that said family doesn't end with blood. Cas isn't my blood, but he's my family, you understand? If Cas doesn't want me to tell you something, I won't tell."

"Why?" Dean breathed, at a loss. He wanted to know the why of everything. He felt stunned, vulnerable, and defeated.

"You never saw what he was like before." Gabriel walked over to a table and leaned against it. "That face he makes when he's about to hurt someone used to be the only face he ever made. Looking at Cas was like looking at a brick wall right before you got your nose smashed into it."

Dean listened intently, only vaguely aware that Gabriel's anecdotes were distractions.

"There's always been a little something wrong with Cas. He's never been totally right in the head. When I first met him, he barely talked and never laughed. I was the one that taught him how to smile." Gabriel grimaced when he thought about how unhappy Castiel's first smile had been. "Cas looked out for me. He was this murder machine that nobody would dare fuck with, but he came to help me out of the blue one day. He didn't know who I was, but Cas floored this giant goon to protect me anyway. He didn't ask for anything in return. Cas ruined this guy's face, because… he thought it was the right thing to do."

Gabriel was apprehensive about telling Dean the story of their past, but he went on, "I'm a specimen of manly perfection now, but back then, I was a skinny kid. I was about as old as you were when you first got here, maybe younger. Pretty face, smooth hands. Easy target, some might say."

His first days in prison had been miserable. When Gabriel was angry and felt a burning sense of justice, he could be brutal. But, in his daily life, the indulgent playboy wanted nothing to do with conflict. Gabriel didn't like to be in situations he could not charm his way out of. He had felt like he was in the wrong place being in prison, but murder was not something that could be undone. The man he had killed was horrible, but Gabriel paid for it.

"People were afraid of Cas then as much as they are now. But he saved my life, and I owed him. From that day on, I stuck close to him." Gabriel had been the perfect combination of reckless, desperate, and lonely. Clinging to the dangerous man bested all his alternatives. He chuckled when he thought of the way he had buzzed around Cas cheerfully, like a daring hummingbird, when inside he had genuinely been nervous the other inmate would someday crush him like he'd crushed his enemy.

"That's how I found out he had this deep, incredible faith. Cas of all people. The guy with rivers of blood on his hands. For the longest time, we went to chapel together every Sunday. We've sat next to each other in the mess hall three times a day – everyday – for going on eight years now." Gabriel pressed his palm over his eye as he became affected by emotion. Dean hurt at the thought of Cas languishing in solitary, but so did Gabriel and he could no longer hide it. "He's the only family I have that will still talk to me."

A hot, fat tear seeped down Gabriel's cheek and he turned away from Dean. The things he knew about Cas were things he often wished he didn't know. Keeping secrets for Cas was easy because they shared at least one feeling in common – both Gabriel and Cas liked to run from the past and deny reality. "He's done a lot of bad things, Dean. He's flawed, but he tries harder than almost anyone. I just want to think of him as the guy that will defend someone in trouble. He can't stand to see a person being hurt by someone stronger, and that's good enough for me. It should be good enough for you too."

"Gabe," Dean spoke for the first time in a long while. "Whatever it is, I can handle it. He's my family too."

"No. It would break his heart if I told you the one thing he asked me to never tell. I wouldn't do that to him," Gabriel asserted. "Don't ask me about it. Ever again."

* * *

After Gabriel left the library, nobody else entered. The room was so empty and noiseless that it felt like a forgotten catacomb. Not knowing what had happened to Cas since the guards had carried him away was torture to Dean. He increased his grief by reviewing events in his mind over and over.

Again, Uriel had struck Castiel with remarkable force. What got to Dean was that Castiel had seemed to have purposely provoked the guard. Did Cas dread the idea of answering Dean's question so much that he preferred being struck unconscious? Everything Gabriel had told Dean had only managed to summon feelings within Dean that added to his wretchedness. Castiel could not possibly be a mastermind of deception, and yet, it seemed that he was.

There had to be a good reason why, Dean decided. Castiel probably just wanted to tell him his secret in his own time, using his own words. Dean paced in the library, festering with nerves. He didn't like the feelings he had, like he was being used and lied to from every angle.

 _Castiel is the king. Gabriel is the right hand. What does that make me?_ He felt like the fool – the court jester that Castiel kept for entertainment. Castiel himself had remarked that the prisoners believed him to be property. The king's favorite toy, Dean thought. He wasn't worthy enough of being kept informed or of knowing Castiel's past and that tore up his insides. _You son of a bitch._

Dean was alone now, probably because the other inmates were too terrified of Cas to go near him. _His bitch_ , Dean thought, _the queen._ What was it he had been called? _…self-righteous whore._ He gnashed his teeth together, thinking that this could not possibly be love, as Gabriel had claimed it was.

Dean wasn't pleased with Gabriel, but he took his advice and didn't ask any other inmates about Castiel's secret because he could not stomach any more lies for the evening. Nor did Dean think he could handle the truth, just at that moment. He didn't want to be seen caring about Cas or his past either. When time came for dinner, Dean sat where he always did. He faced Gabriel, who was next to Charlie. The space to Gabriel's right was mournfully empty.

No matter how angry and hurt he was because of Cas, Dean still wished to see his handsome face. He wanted to confront Cas, kiss him, and punch him. Dean ate in silence, unable to strike up any conversation. Charlie tried to talk, but his companions gave no signs of wanting to reciprocate.

The nightly count further established what Dean and Gabriel already knew. The guards passed by, counting every man except for Castiel. Castiel's cell had no occupant, which meant he was spending the night somewhere else. It could be the hole. It could be the infirmary. Or worse, the infirmary and then the hole.

Dean collapsed on his bed after the lights went out and buried his face into his pillow. What hurt more than anything else was the fact that Castiel had been sentenced to death, and could be taken from him permanently, at any moment. Dean was not unyielding. He could not be tough and composed at every hour. That night, he soaked his pillow in quiet tears and snot. _You can't die. You son of a bitch, you can't die._

* * *

Castiel also failed to be present at the morning count, an absence that crippled Dean's spirit. Loosing Cas to violent, yet mysterious circumstances produced an effect similar to the consequences of severing one of Atlas' arms. If the world had been teetering upon one of the titan's arms in the old myths, it would have been as unbalanced as Dean's world.

Even his relationships with his other friends faltered. Knowing that they most likely would have tried to help him in their own ways, Dean still didn't want to see Charlie or Gabriel. He didn't want to hear how much he was liked or loved by Castiel from other's mouths. Dean didn't care to hear the hope Charlie had for him and Cas whenever spoke in his upbeat, knowing tenor. Neither did he care to hear more about the history-laden special relationship Gabe had with Cas. Most importantly, Dean did not want to talk about his feelings. All he wanted was to have Cas back.

Dean accomplished his daily routine with perfunctory motions, wordless and uncaring, bordering zombielike. The Winchester said fewer than a handful of words to anyone for a week. When they had free time, he hid himself in places where he was unlikely to be seen or heard. He carried a book or the guitar with him, as if either could really entertain. Everything was so awry and dark that it took all of his energy just to be at the designated spots at the right times for daily counts, showers, and meals. Why did he eat at all, he wondered, when he had no desire for food?

The chessboard was an eyesore. The library was a graveyard. The only thing that might have soothed Dean was the garage, but he ceased receiving jobs after Castiel's disappearance. He was being punished too, Dean reasoned, because someone knew of the connection between him and Cas' aggression.

By the time he was a week into his loneliness, Dean knew what Castiel's punishment was. Cas was to stay in solitary for a month. Dean had also learned that Miggs continued to survive, however laboriously. He had a broken neck, shattered legs, a concussion, and multiple other injuries, but he stubbornly held onto life. The blonde male was still being kept in the infirmary under strict watch. All scalpels and other pointy objects were under lock and key.

Dean wanted to write to Sam to tell him the truth more than ever. He wanted to write to Sam about Castiel, giving him every difficult, heartbreaking detail. Dean didn't like bearing his heartaches to his brother. Sam still had only half the details about his first love, Cassie. Even though Dean had married Lisa, he had found it difficult to tell Sam he loved her. Yet, with Castiel, Dean wanted to rip him apart in a letter to Sam and to worship him all at once. After all, Castiel had disfigured one man and crippled another for him. Cas was his greatest ally and the most loyal friend he had ever had apart from Sam. Dean didn't feel right that Sam knew so little about what was going on, but he knew he couldn't write without explaining everything about his crime. Normally, Dean would turn to Cas in a moment like this, but this time, Castiel was the source of all his problems. Dean was determined to keep Sam in ignorance, regardless of how much he wanted his secrets to be known.

Dean played the guitar everyday because he had gotten a little out of practice. He sought places where he could be alone to play. Each day, he would gravitate ever closer to the area where he knew Castiel was being held. When he played, he poured his thoughts of Cas into the notes his fingers coaxed from the strings. _Come back, please,_ Dean pleaded internally as if Castiel could obey. _God damn it, I miss you_.

Maybe Castiel would go on another hunger strike. Maybe he would try to kill himself and get let out early, like before. The fact that Dean secretly hoped for these things, demonstrated the depth of his desperation. Then, one day, Charlie approached him.

"March 23rd," Charlie said to catch Dean's attention.

The Winchester killed the ballad on his fingertips to look up at the redhead. Dean had not shaved in days. "What about it?"

"That's when he'll be unguarded," Charlie explained. Dean knew precisely what Charlie meant and it sent a jolt of optimism through his veins. The hole was monitored by guards daily. They would never spend a full twenty-four hours in front of the cell, but they would pass by at random intervals each day to inspect the prisoner. They came by at different frequencies and different hours, but, if Cas was unguarded, that meant nobody would be checking in on him except for at the periodic meal times. Charlie went on, "One of the guards is taking a three-day weekend to take a trip to the beach. You can thank the warm front that's coming in for that."

"Thanks," Dean said to his friend. "You sure?"

"One hundred and ten percent sure." Charlie was so certain because Gabriel had snuck into an office to check the schedule. That was something only Gabriel could do because of all the favors he had curried throughout the years. He knew the insides of the prison like the palm of his hand, and was skilled at bullshitting and bribing his way out of any problems he could get into with the guards. Checking the guard schedules was a hobby of his that was often fruitful. When Charlie left him to his thoughts, Dean got up and wandered ever nearer to the hall where Castiel was being kept.

 _Three days from now_. Dean dreamed about busting Castiel out of solitary, but he only had the rest of the prison to take him unless he found a way out of the penitentiary as well. He worried that if they were caught, Castiel would be punished with more time in the hole, so he concentrated on what little things he could do for Cas. Perhaps he couldn't break Cas out of that tiny cell, but that didn't mean he couldn't visit him. After receiving Charlie's message, Dean had more energy. He decided he would scheme a way to let Castiel know he was coming. Dean wanted to be sure that Cas knew he had not yet forgotten about him.

The guitar in his hands was the perfect vehicle to achieve his goals. Dean got as close to Castiel's hall as he dared and began to play the song with which he had once serenaded Cas. _I'll Be Seeing You_. That was the title of the song and it could not have been more appropriate. The notes filled the air like love incarnate. He didn't know if Castiel could hear or if he was even awake to listen, but Dean played on anyway. His rendition of the song was unique to him, and Castiel would know what it meant if he heard it.

 _Wake up, babe. Listen._ There was no way for Castiel to indicate that he had heard, but Dean was confident the hall could carry his tune. When Dean was done playing the song, he waited for only a few moments before playing it again. Renewed, the song sounded as beautiful and enchanting as the first time Dean had played it for Cas in the library. The music was a cheery, tender contrast to the agonizing hardships they faced. To Dean, it became addictive to create his message in art. By the time he was beginning to pluck away at the same song for the fourth time, a guard approached him.

"Five twenty-nine twenty-nine, what's with the racket?" He asked in a rough tone. "What're you doing here?"

Dean did not allow the use of his prison number instead of his name to ruffle him into doing something unwise. "Practicing," he said simply. "This is a good spot. I've been coming here because nobody else comes here."

The guard didn't trust Dean and wasn't quite yet ready to let him off the hook. "You can take that racket somewhere else."

"Nope," Dean answered, continuing to strum. "This 'racket' is the only thing that's keeping me from bashing in a skull. If I take it somewhere else it would defeat the purpose because there might be people around. Skulls."

Dean winked and plucked away more loudly.

"If you're going to play here, at least mix it up a little," the guard groaned.

"Will do, officer." Abruptly, Dean switched songs.

"And stay out of trouble, you hear?"

"Yes, sir!" Dean nodded and went on playing.

The Winchester had been right. Across the small plaza, the narrow, tunnel-like corridor funneled sound flawlessly to the cell. Castiel, curled up on the floor of his tiny cell, listened to the first notes of 'Summertime' float through the only crack in his metal door. This was a song Cas loved almost as much as 'I'll Be Seeing You.' Without anyone to socialize with for several days, Castiel communicated with the music through quiet singing to have some kind of interaction with something that was alive.

" _Summertime, and the livin' is easy_ …" Castiel sang in a coarse, low voice. " _Fish are jumpin', and the cotton is high._ "

" _Oh, your daddy's rich_ – " he coughed miserably because he hadn't spoken in so long that it was now a strain to sing. Cas owed Dean a song, he remembered, so he picked up his soft, somber vocals again when he caught his breath. " _One of these mornings, you're gonna rise up singin'..._ " His fingers gently tapped on the pavement in tempo with the guitar. _"Then you'll spread your wings, and take to the sky._ "

Castiel was glad Dean could not hear him, for he was sure he was an awful singer. In truth, he sounded nothing like Dean or Gabriel. Castiel's singing voice was haunting in its melancholy, and yet, colored by a talent he couldn't himself appreciate. What had begun rough had become lachrymose loveliness. The brooding quality of his voice was well suited for the slow-moving, A minor chords. " _'Til that morning, there's nothing can harm you_."

He couldn't manage another lyric. Cas' eyes slipped closed. This song was a lullaby and singing for as long as he had sapped what little energy he had had. Cas wanted to be lulled into a permanent sleep by the sound of the music Dean played.

_Hush little baby, don't you cry._

* * *

Castiel woke up abruptly and wondered if it was the following day. He had such narrow, indirect sources of light that the passing of time was difficult to decipher. With nothing else to do, he had spent a lot of time asleep. He prayed constantly, slept, and did everything in his power to not lose his mind. He was certain the music from yesterday had been a part of a dream, at least, that was true until he heard it again. _I'll Be Seeing You_.

_In all the old familiar places_

_That this heart of mine embraces_

_All day and through_

The music was not accompanied by singing of any kind, but he remembered the sweet lyrics as Dean had once sung them. Cas sat up and pressed his ear to the door. When that didn't increase his ability to hear, he lowered himself to the floor and tipped open the small slit where his food entered daily. Sound flooded in. "You're losing your mind," he muttered to himself. "Again."

 _You can't do that to yourself. Not again._ Castiel felt over his face and, by the state of his beard, judged that he had been away for over a week. He normally didn't start talking to himself until after two weeks. This time, he was singing and hearing things. He commanded himself to stay strong. _Exercise_.

Exercise was the only other thing he could think of to keep his blood rushing and his brain connected. He did pushups until he lost count. Then, he did sit-ups. _That music isn't real._ Next, Castiel boxed invisible enemies to practice all the moves he had learned from books and the newsreels. He remembered watching Henry Armstrong knocking out Jimmy Garrison in seven rounds on a piece of old film the prison had. It had been such a great fight that the guards had played it multiple times. Somehow, any variety of boxing moves had always come naturally to Cas.

The music didn't stop. The sound of the guitar wasn't like other hallucinations Castiel had had in the past. All at once, it was familiar, friendly, charming, and wonderful.

No matter what Cas did, he felt suffocated by the small room. He felt a maddening loneliness that made him doubt his own thoughts. Dean couldn't possibly be outside of his cell, Castiel thought. That was madness. Wishful thinking. He sat on the ground and pulled his knees to his chest, listening closely. When the music finally stopped, he started from his spot and looked to the door. Now that it was gone, he was dying to hear it again. Whether or not they lived just in his imagination, the tunes reminded him of Dean.

Castiel pressed his hands together and prayed. _Come back, please._ For the rest of the afternoon, there was no more music. Cas eventually crawled to a corner and spread his legs out in front of him. The room looked largest from any one of the corners. If he could trick the room into appearing larger, perhaps he could also will the music to come back. He slept that night in an atmosphere that was absolutely still and mirthless.

When March 23rd came at last, Castiel had no idea what day it was or the significance of it. He'd heard music everyday until then, but today was different. After receiving his one o'clock rations, Castiel heard a knock on his door that caused him to scatter away from it, abandoning his plate of meager sustenance. Castiel didn't answer. He pressed his back up to the wall by the door and sat, waiting.

"Cas!"

The unmistakable sound of Dean's voice fell on his ears. _That can't be_. The insistent knocks that followed made his heart pound in bewilderment. Sounds continued to be made outside – sighs, the scrapes of impatient feet, whispers, and more raps on the sturdy door. A thud that was unlike anything he was used to hearing landed low and right outside of his door. Grumbling followed, "If you're sleeping, you better wake the fuck up soon. Cas, wake up!"

_Dean?_

The Winchester sat resting against the wall opposite to where Castiel was leaning on the other side. He looked down at his hands and moaned, "Just my luck, isn't it? I come all the way here and you're passed out. I'll stay here as long as it takes."

Dean didn't want to make too much noise because he knew there was always a chance sound would carry in a direction he did not want, alerting guards. "I came to visit because I miss you so damn much. I'm still pissed at you. Believe you me, am I ever pissed." Dean cast his eyes to the piece of floor in front of the slot. "But I'd rather have you, dodgy, conniving scumbag or not. Can you hear me?"

Dean bent over and lifted up the small sliver of metal. He pressed himself low to peer through it and saw nothing but a plate because Castiel was too far to the side. "Where the hell are you?"

Boldly, he stuck his hand through the slit to feel around for Cas. The sudden appearance of Dean's arm made the other man gasp. "Dean!" Castiel rasped, finally. He lunged for the hand to make sure it was real.

From the other side, Dean exhaled a happy breath. Castiel's clammy hand covering his own was a blessing. "You're awake. Why didn't you say so sooner?"

Joy shut out all of Castiel's words. He bent down and kissed Dean's fingers repeatedly. He followed his grateful, sweet kisses with more kisses up Dean's arm, and then traced the tip of his tongue along the inside of Dean's middle finger. The Winchester made of sound of aroused torment and squirmed on the other side of the door. "Whoa, whoa!" Dean moaned. "Cas, wait. Hey."

"Yes, Dean?"

"Baby, let me see your face, would ya?" Dean waited and when Castiel removed his lips and hands, Dean struggled to get his arm out of the slot. It took effort, but once he was free, he used his hand to prop the opening ajar. He got down as low as he could and could only see Castiel's knees at first. Then, he watched his hands come into view, followed promptly by his dirty, unshaven face. Blue eyes blinked at him in wonder.

"Aw, sweetheart, you look like shit." Dean remarked with a grin. "But gorgeous."

Cas felt shy and nervous like he had not felt for a long time around Dean. He wasn't sure what Dean had heard from his confrontation with Miggs or what he now knew. Cas was only sure that Dean was angry about something and that inhibited his ability to enjoy the visit fully.

"Don't worry, we'll clean you up when you're out of here. You'll be good as new, just like last time," Dean reassured Cas.

"You played music," Castiel stated without conviction.

"Yeah. You heard?" Dean was pleased. "Did you like it?"

Cas nodded and inched near the sliver that joined them. He carefully forced his arm through to delicately touch Dean's face. He fingered over the new scruff Dean had developed in his absence. _So handsome._ Soon, Dean was holding his hand and leaving affectionate kisses along his fingers and knuckles. "I miss you," he whispered. "Fucking hell, I miss you."

Without a warning, Castiel's hand disappeared. "You can't be here, Dean," he said. "It's too dangerous. They might come back, at any moment."

"No!" Dean insisted, "The guard that is supposed to be watching you is out today. It's Friday, babe. He's taking a three-day weekend and there's nobody to cover for him. Someone is just coming by to open the hall, give you your meals, and then lock the hall at night. I've been watching."

Understanding dawned upon Castiel and he asked, "How long have I been here?"

"Thirteen days." When Cas said nothing, Dean continued. "You have eighteen days left." To both men, that seemed like an infinite amount of time. Castiel's hand again slipped outside of the door to grab Dean's hand. Cas pulled Dean's arm onto his side of the door and nestled near their joined hands. Dean could feel Castiel's steady breaths brushing against his fingers. _God_. Dean swallowed and admitted his cravings out loud, "I want to hold you."

If needed, Castiel would lie a million times and hospitalize any number of men just to hear those words from Dean's lips again. "And I you," he said.

Dean leaned on his back and looked up at the ceiling miserably. He had plans to ask Castiel about death row, his crime, and his rules, but those were difficult subjects to broach. Last time Castiel had been in solitary, Dean had been angry with him then too, and Charlie had advised that he go easy on Cas. Going easy on Cas was so much more difficult this time around. Dean squeezed Castiel's hand.

They rested together for a long time, their hands interlaced, Dean on his back and Castiel on his side facing the Winchester. Apart from the view of his arm, Cas had a fraction of a view of the rest of Dean. He could see the hard lines of his jaw and his freckled cheek. Cas kept watch, waiting for Dean to turn so he could see the green of his eyes again. Staring upwards, Dean broke the calm between them. "You should have told me."

Castiel didn't offer a reply and his avoidance of the subject only increased Dean's frustration. The Winchester sighed, and then groaned. "You do understand why it's wrong, don't you? You can't just keep a big fucking secret like that." Dean didn't let go of Cas' hand, but he wouldn't look at him. "You understand that you can't just leave a person without saying goodbye? Have you ever been abandoned by somebody?"

Castiel stopped to think. People he knew had died, but he hadn't felt whatever Dean was trying to describe. "No."

"Well, it ain't right!" Dean raised his voice suddenly. "They could execute you next week. If that rat bastard hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known anything. You should have said something!"

"Some things are hard to tell."

By the way Dean's jaw moved, Cas could tell Dean had begun to grind his teeth. "Damn it. I don't care how hard it is. You can't keep something like that from me."

"I'm sorry," Castiel said, finally. That was what Dean had wanted, and although he felt Cas was sincere, he didn't feel especially satisfied.

"You keep pulling shit like this, and one day 'sorry' isn't gonna be enough."

"I am sorry." Castiel repeated and nuzzled Dean's hand with his face. He begged his pardon in soft kisses to his fingers. "I tried to tell you, but I never could."

As much as Dean hated to admit it to himself, he was thankful the blonde thug had blurted out Cas' secret. He could imagine Cas lying to him all the way to the gallows, but he couldn't figure out why. "Alright," Dean said. "But say it is going to happen…"

"Stop." Castiel couldn't talk about it now. He couldn't bare to listen to Dean speculate about what would happen if he got executed – not when he was in the darkest place of the penitentiary.

"When you get out of there, we are going to have a talk." Dean waited long enough to allow the severity of his statement settle in before continuing. "Hear me out for a second, okay? All I wanna say now is, time isn't always on our side. So, we should stick together as much as we possibly can while we still have it."

Castiel could not argue with that reasoning. He was a Dead Man Walking and his greatest wish was to be near Dean every step he took to the end.

"I know what you were trying to do out there on the balcony," Dean added, "but next time you wanna fuck some guy up, you should really consider toning down the theatrics."

Castiel's lip quirked. "I wanted people to see."

"You could have iced him in some corner somewhere and you wouldn't be here now. You know it's true!"

"Restraint is not one of my stronger suits."

_Thickheaded son of a bitch._

"Well, now's as good a time as any to learn. Don't get yourself locked up here again, for the love of all things holy." Dean pressed Castiel's hand. "I mean it."

No matter how much Castiel sometimes believed he belonged in solitary, he hated it too. But, if it meant so much to Dean, he would make a special effort to stay out in the future.

"I'm going crazy out here without you," Dean went on. "You know Gabe was bawlin' over you?"

"Was he?"

"Yeah, big fat tears. That guy really loves you."

"Gabriel is a good friend," Castiel remarked with fondness. "Tell him I said hello and that I miss him too."

"You got it."

"How much time do we have left?"

"They lock up this hall at six, so about four and a half hours."

"Oh." Castiel slid closer to the door. "Are you going to stay the whole time?"

"No! I've got shit to do, I'm a busy man!" Dean cried. He flipped to his side to face the door with an incredulous look. "Yes, of course I'm staying the whole time, ya lug."

Castiel slowly moved their joined hands away so he could open more space with which to observe Dean. Their gazes met and they shared soft smiles. "You'll get bored. Four and half hours is a long time."

"Not long enough, if you ask me," Dean countered. "Nothing out there is more interesting than what's in that little cell."

Castiel was so struck by Dean's words that he was totally silenced. Meanwhile, Dean wondered if it was possible to get a kiss through the tiny opening between them. _That would be awkward_ , Dean mused, _he'd never go for it._

"Hey, where's the bed? Aren't you supposed to have a cot or somethin'?"

Castiel looked at the barren metal loops high up on his walls. He might have ruled the other prisoners with fear, but he was no favorite among the guards. "They take it away when I'm here."

Dean furrowed his brows. _Oh, for fuck's sake_. With heightened worry, he scanned Castiel's face. "Have you been eating?"

Castiel nodded. The food in solitary was worse than what was served in the mess hall, partly because he was served after everyone else had eaten. His portions were smaller and always made of the odd bits and ends. Castiel was fed like he was an afterthought.

"Don't you even think about pulling another hunger strike, you hear me?" Dean threatened. "No matter how bad it gets down here, just remember you've got us waiting for you. I'll be waiting for you."

Cas met Dean with a grateful gaze. "Will you play the guitar again?"

"If you like it, I'll play. I'll play for you everyday."

"I like it."

* * *

Dean discovered that it was impossible to kiss Castiel through the slot in the door where Cas' tray was delivered daily. They got close, but never close enough. If not for the metal flap covering the opening, their lips could have met. Dean would have been willing to wreck his hands to rip away that metal flap, but his efforts were to no avail. Time and time again, the metal flap would come down on his nose or hit him in the eye. Dean cursed and they laughed about it in the rueful way only parted lovers can laugh. Yet, they found ways for their lips to taste each other by taking turns bathing each other's hands in tender kisses. Dean noticed the warmth and every detail of Castiel's hands more acutely than he had before that day because Cas' hands and arms were all he could reach. In turn, Castiel idolized Dean's hands, massaging over them with his fingers in motions that were soothing, but unfamiliar.

The four and a half hours they spent together were tranquil and loving, despite the sorrowful topics they occasionally approached. Dean explained that Miggs lived on as a temporary cripple with a broken neck. The news caused Cas to grow reticent with fury. He only relaxed when Dean told him that the troublesome inmate was being kept under observation at the infirmary to recuperate and for his own safety.

Apart from the depression felt by Gabriel and Charlie at Castiel's removal from their group, Dean did not have much other news to provide. He told Cas that he had been practicing the guitar daily in his absence because he found most of his other favorite pastimes involved Castiel. He didn't have the patience to play chess with anyone else, Dean said. Castiel had ruined his ability to play chess with any other man. Dean couldn't concentrate on reading his books either because he kept worrying about Cas. He still had the energy to race Gabriel from time to time, but lifting weights was nowhere near as satisfying when Castiel was not there to spot him.

The last thing Dean did before he had to leave was offer Castiel a cigarette. He lit it between his lips and passed it through the slot, knowing Castiel must have been craving nicotine with his every nerve. Castiel reclined on his back and watched the smoke as it trailed from his lips, happily. There was no man on earth kinder than Dean, Castiel thought. The blue-eyed male imagined Dean's lips on the stick as he drew from it, feeling like they were sharing a kiss through paper and the leaves packed in between.

When the time came for Dean to leave, he couldn't tear himself away from Cas. Castiel had to urge him multiple times to hurry and leave before Dean finally got up to make his exit from the hall. Before he was a few yards away from the hallway, he almost ran head first into a guard. _Just in time_.

Dean's spirits were too high from having seen Castiel to fear his run-in with the guard. As if affected by Dean's pleasant aura, the uniformed male allowed the Winchester to continue on his way, unperturbed. Dean walked to the mess hall with a spring in his step. He ate whatever was before him, wearing a contented expression on his face, like he could still feel Castiel's lips all over his hands. He couldn't talk about having met with Castiel to his friends in such an open area, but when the time came to put up their trays, Dean whispered to Gabriel.

"He says hello, and that he misses you too."

Gabriel's eyes all but sparkled at the message, and at the fact that Dean was speaking to him again. The trio – Gabriel, Castiel, and Dean – found a break from their agitated, somber moods that evening. The chill of winter was passing, but Dean still pulled out the old navy gloves Castiel had given him that night. He put them on not out of necessity, but because he felt Cas' nearness through the scratchy fabric. Dean's eyes fell, and he dreamt of Castiel.

He saw him spread out on sand, wearing an ensemble of white and tan that did not belong on any convict. Cas was without shoes and he gazed up at the clouds, saying something wonderful to Dean. Perhaps he was philosophizing about the physics of the beauty laid out in the nature before them. A full spectrum of color filled the dusk sky and reflected on the gentle waves of the ocean that intermittently lapped at Castiel's feet.

It did not matter what Castiel said because his voice rang like soft poetry on Dean's ears as he listened. He loved Castiel and he loved the beach. He was fascinated and infatuated by all the details of his friend, from the way short strands of his brown hair curled towards his ears to the ever-present cracks in his lips and the deep intelligence of his blue eyes.

The sun was falling, but Dean wasn't worried about going back to find the car in darkness. He wasn't sure if he could ever will himself away from the stretch of sand that he shared with Cas. The blood-oranges comingling with the pale blues of the sky had Castiel transfixed in the same way that Dean was spellbound by Castiel. The longer they relaxed together, the darker the water became, until it was a blackish-blue hue, creeping over Cas' ankles and calves.

The Winchester rolled on his back to witness the first specks of stars emerging from the blanket of crimson and purple, still soothed by the steady voice of his companion. In an instant, the ocean came to a rushing crescendo. Then, Castiel was gone.

His disappearance was so sudden, Dean jumped to feel the sand beside him to check if it was not just an illusion that Castiel was gone. Through the last rays of sunlight, Dean felt nothing but sand.

"Cas?" Even to his own ears, his voice was pitiful.

He acted with urgency, looking for Cas everywhere. The only traces of human presence all along the dim landscape were of Dean's footprints. He looked out to the water and the sound of the ocean fell even more stridently upon his ears. "Cas!"

Anger colored the panic in his voice. He did not want to be left behind, not again. There was already a golden woman missing from his life that he could never forget because he took her picture with him to every dwelling he had ever inhabited since her death. Then, his father had followed her, after showing him time after time what it was like to be alone. Dean even felt abandoned by the war and his brother. Dean had been left behind – wounded, but safe – when he had wanted nothing more than to protect his fellow soldiers and his precious brother. He had become a pariah to the people of his town. He was a drunk and an unhinged, broken solider to them. But, Cas was different. Castiel was his and he wasn't going anywhere without Dean's permission. So, he walked that dream beach with obsessive purpose.

Men did not just vanish, he assured himself. The sky remained at permanent twilight to give him barely enough visibility to continue his search. Finally, he came upon a rocky cliff that cradled signs of Cas. When he saw the streak of white, Dean ran towards it. He expected to find Cas, but instead came upon only his shirt. Dean's fingers dipped into the water to pick up the sopping article and a swell of loss penetrated into his heart.

* * *

Dean woke up with a horrified gasp, fearing that Castiel had really drowned. He scrambled out of bed and was disorientated by the sight of bars. He stared at them, and out at the prison beyond for a while, before fully collecting his wits. _Cas is alive. You saw him just yesterday._

Right as he gathered himself, the sound of the morning bell made him jump. His cell opened, letting Dean out so that he could better gaze at the cell that should have held Castiel. Cas wasn't there. Dean knew why, and yet, felt no comfort in the knowledge. If he couldn't see Cas, he had no way of knowing what he was enduring. _They wouldn't execute him while he's in solitary, would they?_

That question echoed in his mind for the rest of the day, along with dozens of other worries. Dean couldn't fret and pine passively. He delved into studies of the prison, walking the grounds every second he had. Dean examined the guards and the positions of lights, doors, and vents. Every passageway embodied potential and every guard was assessed by degree of threat. Dean poured himself over old newspapers and books, hoping to find valuable knowledge or inspiration. He was scheming to get Castiel out before anyone could take him away from him.

As promised, Dean also visited the space by Castiel's hall with the guitar. He played during rec time, for the inmate's pleasure. Castiel was still there, alive, Dean reasoned. As long as he played for him, Dean believed there were ears listening.

For days, Dean continued in his solitary rounds, pondering, researching, and playing. Sometimes, Gabriel joined him when he played for Cas. At first, Gabriel simply admired him from afar, not wishing to disturb Dean or break his concentration. Dean's fingers eventually tore from the amount of playing he did and, finally, Gabriel decided to take over when Dean would allow it.

Gabriel's playing was distinct from Dean's in a way the singer knew Castiel would be able to recognize. He plucked energetic, complex tunes that impressed Dean and provided a vivacious counterpart to the Winchester's wistful, romantic strumming. Playing together for Cas, Dean and Gabriel mended the rift that secrecy had created between them earlier.

One day, Dean labored to play something new. He was running out of songs he knew to play for Cas, so he tried to adapt a jazzy piano piece he knew to the guitar. It was an understatement to say this was a difficult task for the amateur player. Envisioning chords for the guitar was no small feat when he had horns, the piano, and Fats Waller's unique voice ringing in his brain. Dean sang quiet and slow to help his train of thought.

" _No one to talk with, all by myself…_ "

Dean shifted his fingers into a different key. That was better.

" _No one to walk with, but I'm happy on the shelf."_

" _Ain't misbehavin', I'm savin' my love for you!"_ Gabriel's loud, happy voice interrupted Dean and startled him into lowering the guitar. Dean wouldn't have been singing if he had known Gabriel would appear. "I love that song!" Gabriel cried. "Good ol' Fats, may he rest in peace."

Gabriel had run up to Dean's perch and he nudged him when the other male met him with a mortified expression. "Oh, c'mon! Why'd you stop? I know you sing. I know you know I know why you sing _here_ of all places. Don't stop on my account."

"I was just practicing…" Dean verbally stumbled. "I couldn't remember how it goes without singing."

"You know for certain the one you love," Gabriel teased with a haughty grin and then half-spoke and half-sang more in his sweet, molasses voice, "You're through with flirtin', it's just him you're thinkin' of!"

"That's not how it goes!" Dean snarled, pretending that Gabriel wasn't singing about him.

"Oh, it doesn't? I can't remember. Play more so I can remember."

Dean fought it for a few seconds, but then strummed something halfheartedly without singing. He felt uneasy with Gabriel's eyes scrutinizing him so devilishly. Gabriel was disappointed that he didn't get to hear Dean sing about how Castiel's kisses were worth waiting for. He listened for a few moments before interrupting. "G, huh? Good choice." He waved his hand. "Maybe add some D in there at the beginning."

"Huh?"

"May I?" Gabriel stretched out his hand. Dean passed over the instrument and crossed his legs to face Gabriel. Then, in a miraculous display, Gabriel produced a waterfall of loveliness through a variety of chords in a tempo much quicker than what Dean had been playing. The Winchester was floored as Gabriel began to sing as well, seeming to invent an arrangement without effort.

"How'd you do that? I just – " Dean gasped. "I've been picking at this for an hour and you just – How do you _do_ that?"

"What? I dunno." Gabriel shrugged. "I just think it and it happens."

Dean's mouth hung open. Gabriel made playing the song seem like child's play, somehow funneling New Orleans jazz piano out of the strings. He didn't think he could imitate what he'd just heard.

Gabriel shed all his temporary modesty to take the opportunity to boast, "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm a savant. A genius. A prodigy. A god among men."

Dean groaned, and cast his eyes up to the ceiling, his palm to his forehead. He should have known better than to ask. Still, he had a mission. His mission was to play for Castiel and he didn't want to drive the other man insane by playing the same songs over and over again. Dean leaned forward. "Can you teach me?"

"I always have time for my star pupil." Gabriel all but glowed. Together, the pair strummed and sang until they created a brilliant adaptation of the song. Teasing and laughing ensued. All the while, neither man forgot they had a single audience member who they hoped was also smiling to the music.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel isn't the same when he returns from being in solitary. The change in his attitude makes all his friends worry. Dean tries to help Cas and also get to the bottom of the mysteries that surround him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I can't believe this fic has almost 100 kudos! Thanks, everyone! I never expected to have that many on this story. I really hope you like this chapter. I worked hard to get it to you fast!
> 
> Thanks to Muceti for providing me a French translation of a portion of this fic! I loved it all, and used part of it here. Just imagine Gabriel in French. MMMmmmmm..... :'D

* * *

"You should shave."

Dean looked up from the library inventory book to set a quizzical look upon Gabriel. The Winchester was sporting some well-managed facial hair that offended Gabe for reasons he did not want to know. "I like my beard."

Gabriel hopped up on top of the desk and leaned over the counter. He had his own finely manicured beard, which only made his suggestion all the more unusual to Dean. "You look better without it," Gabriel said.

"Who the fuck – What makes you think I give a damn about what you think about my facial hair?" Dean spat back in reply. He happened to know for a fact that he looked incredible 24/7, and his vanity stung at the idea that a person could find him less attractive for any reason.

Gabriel gave a calm reply, "Well, because Cas gets out tomorrow."

Dean was unprepared for the hands that suddenly gripped the planes of his hairy face. He should have known Gabriel would only climb on top of furniture if he had plans to touch him inappropriately. "When he gets out, he's going to want to touch your face, like this," Gabriel lit up with glee. "And he's going to say things like, 'Dean, I love you. I love you so much. You played music for me while I was in the hole and it was so romantic.' That's what he'll say while he's holding your perfectly smooth face."

Dean was squirming like a cranky child having his mouth washed out with soap. His freckles turned rose-hued as Gabriel spoke. "Don't touch me!" Dean complained, "Let go! G'dammit!"

"Alls I'm sayin' is… don't you want the first thing Cas touches on his day of freedom to be something smooth? Pleasant to the touch?"

Dean shoved the other inmate off the desk and Gabriel landed on the floor, howling with laughter. As ever, Dean was slow to come up with words when he was confronted with thoughts about Cas. "I didn't ask you! If you're not here to get a book, you can get out. I've got work to do."

Gabriel waved as he exited the library and called cheerily, "Charlie agrees with me! You look better without it!"

* * *

The next morning, Dean greeted his friends with a freshly shaven face. He cast sharp green eyes directly at Gabriel. "Not a word."

"Good morning to you too!" Gabriel chimed.

"Morning, Dean!" Charlie interjected. He was thrilled and happy as much as the other two men. "Cas gets out today, huh?"

Dean had been counting the seconds. He had been anticipating this day for what felt like eons. He wanted to speak with Cas freely and look upon his sweet, familiar face. On a baser level, he'd been without sex for a month and that was a long time for Dean. The Winchester didn't intend to immediately climb on top of Cas when he got out, but he was hoping to remedy that problem soon. "Yup, he sure does."

"Do you know exactly when?" Charlie asked.

"Not sure. Last time he got out in the afternoon." Dean dunked his biscuit in his coffee, forgetting that the habit was not his own, but Castiel's. The soppy biscuit was a little bit disgusting and Dean was distressed by the taste of what he'd just done. He finished off the rest of the unsatisfying item with gusto. Optimism gave him an appetite.

Back at work in the library, Dean dusted, swept, and got everything in order. He didn't want Cas to think he'd been slacking in his absence and he didn't want to have a lot of work to do when Cas finally arrived so he could give all his time and energy to him. It didn't take long for Gabriel and Charlie to join him, in equally excited states.

"First thing he did when he got out last time was come to the library," Gabriel explained to Charlie. "He was a little bit brain dead, but that's what happens when you're in solitary."

"Have you ever been in the hole?" Charlie asked Gabriel.

The other male's expression shifted darkly. "Only once."

Dean was pacing. "He should be here by now. You think something happened?"

"You need to cool down, Dean-o. Cas'll be here," Gabriel replied. "He knows where to find us."

Dean wasn't satisfied. He glanced at the clock and swallowed. "I'm going to check his cell just in case. You fellas wait here."

Dean moved on quick feet to the holding cells. The closer he got to Castiel's cell, the more light hearted he felt, like his body was telling him he would be vindicated in thinking he would find Cas in his cell before his eyes had the proof. He almost stumbled from enthusiasm when he saw the outlines of Cas situated on top of his bed.

"Cas!" Dean crashed into Castiel's seated form, wearing a one hundred watt smile. Completely giddy, he pulled Cas close. Cas didn't say anything or move to return his embrace, but that didn't bother Dean when he was finally touching and inhaling him again. "You're back," the Winchester beamed. "It's about fucking time."

At last, Dean let him go to take in everything about him. He looked like many a hobo he'd seen in his life, but was nonetheless perfect to his eyes. Cas was so grubby that the crispness of his blue eyes seemed all the brighter. "Gee! You are ripe!" Dean coughed and chuckled at Castiel's expense. Cas wasn't in a talking mood, but it was easy for Dean to carry on without him. "Why didn't you come to the library? We were all waiting for you there."

Castiel swallowed. He was perspiring from the anxiety that came with being back in their small world after spending so much time alone in an even smaller one. Before Dean had appeared, Cas had sunk down on his bed in stiff pain, trying to acclimate his body to the mattress again. To Castiel, the open doorway of his cell was a cruel illusion and all the surrounding lights were too bright for his eyes. He didn't feel right, even with Dean in front of him.

His desiccated lips were timid with disuse and his eyes were set in a troubled, constant squint. He'd thought of Dean and thought of what to say to him so often, but now no words felt adequate. Cas still had difficulty believing he was with Dean again.

Right when Dean was beginning to panic from the lack of acknowledgment from his friend, Cas focused on his eyes with a piercing, yet absolutely welcome look. The tips of his unclean fingers brushed over Dean's cheek in a soft motion. In Dean's presence, Cas felt utterly hideous. "Sorry," Castiel's voice broke.

Dean's expression faltered. This wasn't the way he'd imagined their reunion. Cas was often sorry about something, and Dean recognized he probably wasn't referring solely to not appearing at the library. "I know. It's okay," Dean said. He took a seat by Cas. "You want a shave and shower?"

Castiel shook his head. He couldn't take part in their old ritual, even if he wanted to. This time was different. Something incredibly heavy was weighing on him that he had difficulty expressing to Dean.

"You hungry? How 'bout a smoke?" Dean was about ready to light one up for himself because Castiel was making him nervous with worry. "Cat got your tongue?"

Dean elbowed Cas, silently urging him to speak up about something, anything. He pulled out a cigarette with fumbling fingers and lit it up. The metallic sounds of the gesture sounded pleasant to Castiel's ears. He turned and watched with fascination as Dean drew from the cig and exhaled a trail of gray. Unaware of the attention on his mouth, Dean turned and saw that Castiel had drawn close. The next second, Dean moved forward to press their lips together.

Castiel felt as disgusting as he must have looked, possibly more so, but he responded to Dean's kiss eagerly. He touched his face again and reveled in his warmth and the taste of the cigarette. Dean tugged his shirt, not caring if the cigarette went to waste as long as their nearness increased. Then, suddenly, Cas pulled away. "You shouldn't – "

"Shouldn't what?" Dean growled in return, forcing Cas to stay close even as the other male tried to scoot away.

"I'm unclean," Cas whispered in a quiet, solemn tone.

"That's why man invented showers," Dean quipped, "You know, that thing that shoots water out at you? That thing you haven't seen in a while? Let's go."

Dean got up and grabbed Castiel's hand, trying to drag him along with him, but Cas wouldn't budge. Heart palpitating, Cas replied, "I want to stay."

"You want to stay here, stankin' to high heaven?" Dean huffed. "Okay."

"Alone."

Dean's muscles tensed up furiously. "Oh, really?" He took more puffs from the cig just before it went out. "If you don't want to be around me, just say it. Grow some god damned balls."

The Winchester stormed out and ran into Gabriel before he was halfway to his own cell. "Whoa!" Gabriel stumbled, and placed his hands on Dean's shoulders to steady himself. "Where you goin'? Was Cas there?"

"Yeah, acting like a regular prick."

Dean stomped away so quickly Gabriel couldn't get more information out of him. He hurried to Cas' cell and saw his old friend sitting with a look of consternation on his face. Gabriel hugged him anyway.

"Welcome back, little bro!" Gabriel cheered. "Phew, you smell like old underpants and week-old fish! Tuna?! Did they give you fish in the hole? They never give us fish…"

Gabriel laughed and sat down on the floor in front of Cas, cross-legged. He didn't expect Cas to reply, so he carried on happily. Gabriel slapped Cas' knee and said, "You're causing trouble already. That's my boy! I never would've pegged you for a heartbreaker, but here we are. You make your brother proud."

A complete turn in what Gabriel said only came with a change in language. From then on, he spoke to Cas only in French, knowing that no other inmate that was eavesdropping was likely to understand what he said. He did this also to calm Castiel. "Je sais ce que tu penses. Je ne lui ai pas dit le secret – pas plus que ce que Miggs a déjà dit. Tu sais que tu peux me faire confiance."

_I know what you're thinking. I didn't tell him the secret – not anymore than what Miggs already said. You know you can trust me._

Cas fixed his eyes on Gabriel and relaxed, ever so slightly. The sound of French on his ears and Gabriel's familiarity soothed him. Gabriel continued speaking in the tongue they both shared.

" _I told him your rules because he was about to ruin my face if I didn't_ ," Gabriel smirked. " _What a hot head! He's definitely going to ask you about that. He'll ask you a lot of things. But… you already know that, huh?_ "

Cas heaved a sigh and cast his gaze away. He didn't know what to tell Dean now anymore than he had the last time he'd been forced to face himself in solitary. In the end, Cas only understood why his self-loathing was so justified, even more than before.

" _If you think turning him away will make him stop asking, you're wrong. You have to tell him something._ " Gabriel pursed his lips and scratched his head. He carried on their conversation, filling in Castiel's rebuttal for him in a comical imitation of his rough voice, " _But I don't wanna!_ Boo-freaking-hoo. _Quit being such a baby. Look at you. You don't want a bath, do you? You know what happened to me when I pouted and I said I didn't want a bath?_ "

Gabriel hauled Castiel up and hooked his lean arm with the other man's to escort him to the showers. Whether it was his mother or his wealth of brothers, _somebody_ always shoved Gabe into the bath and scrubbed him clean with angry, rough brushing. That was what Gabriel did with Castiel and the blue-eyed man continued to cling to his feelings of hopelessness and despair. Blackened water swirled around his toes as Gabriel gave him a firm, talking-to.

" _You can't actually drop dead from sadness_ ," Gabriel said. He remembered Lucy had tried it once. He'd spread out on the floor of his room, hating the world in a very spoiled, teenage way. The only thing the handsome youth had accomplished by doing that was becoming the perfect chair for a tiny Gabriel. " _Pretty soon you're going to smile again and realize you don't get to choose when you're loved or by whom. You're going to remember that God created us to be social creatures. Now let's have that shave._ "

When Gabriel whipped out a razor, Castiel showed the most energy he'd shown since getting out of solitary. And it was all fear-based.

" _Look at you, brother. You're so good looking under all this hair_ ," Gabriel grinned and then his hand slipped. "Oops _. Yee – No, it's okay. Just a_ little _bit of blood. Stop squirming!_ "

Several moments later, Gabriel beheld the product of his labor proudly. " _Promise me you'll tell him something. It doesn't have to be about that day. Just something to help him understand. You won't want to be apart from him forever. Your cell is already too small._ Hey, how about that? _You look like a million bucks!_ "

Gabriel waved his hand to the mirror to show Castiel his own reflection. Cas had about ten pieces of paper clinging to spots of blood on his face, but he was clean and shaven.

* * *

Dean was livid. After a short stint of pacing and cursing in his cell, he returned to the library to Charlie. Charlie knew immediately that Cas and Dean had had a disagreement of some sort and got all the details from Dean that he could. Disappointment ruled the day and Charlie eventually left to respond to a maintenance request. Dean was again as alone as he had been when Castiel had been put away. He hated Gabriel for having raised his hopes for nothing. When he pondered with his fist to his chin, he was furious that his face was so smooth.

Yet, Castiel had kissed him back, Dean thought. If he were repulsed by or angry with Dean, he wouldn't have done that, would he? Castiel was sorry. He was silent and solemn with 'sorry,' but about what? Drawing from the conversation they'd had during his surprise visit, Dean speculated that he was still sorry about not having told him more about his sentence sooner. When he thought about that, he again wondered what Castiel's crime was.

Dean began to fret because he only had false stories to aide him. Once more, he was terrified that what Cas had done was so reprehensible that not even he would be able to defend him. _He could be innocent_ , Dean proposed. Castiel had such an unreliable memory that he believed it was possible Cas was a fall guy and didn't even know it.

_It could have been an accident, like with Gabe._

Maybe Cas had just gotten carried away, swept up in the moment. Maybe he had killed someone or some people that had been up to no good in the first place. Then Dean remembered. _Nuns, children_. All of the false stories he'd heard involved innocents. _Churches._ It didn't make any sense. What motive could Castiel have had to harm innocents or desecrate sacred places? But, Gabriel's stories must have had some basis in truth or else they would not have all had such similar themes. Could Castiel's crime have been so bad that beheading nuns was somehow a nicer tale than the truth? Dean shuddered.

He couldn't take it anymore. He was going to question and talk. Dean ran out of the library, looking for anyone that would speak to him. He spoke to people that normally didn't give him a second glance. As soon as he brought up Castiel's past, most of the men he approached left him high and dry, often without a peep. A few men talked only in corners and in small whispers. Usually they told Dean not to ask, but sometimes they said a variety of disturbing things.

"Don't you know? He went nuts. Gouged out some poor lady's eyes. A librarian, I think. That's why he works in the library now," one thief said, with chills running up and down his spine. "He's got a library fetish. Likes to use knives too. At least that's what I've heard."

"He made a deal with the Devil," another man told him in a hushed voice. "For a day, anything he touched burned to a crisp. Don't let him near a match. He's whatcha call a _pyromaniac_."

"He massacred a whole town," a hesitant convict told Dean, only after he'd been bribed with a cigarette. "He started with the preacher and everyone in the church."

The stories Dean heard were brief and outlandish. He was often told that Cas was a monster and that he should get away from him while he still could. He felt more confused by the information he'd received than he was enlightened by it. Then, Dean returned to his first source – Crazy Martin.

Finding Crazy Martin was a chore in itself. Very few people associated with him or cared where he went. Eventually, Dean found him outside, building a little birdhouse out of small pieces of wood. When Martin saw Dean, he got up and backed away in fear.

Dean asked him the same questions he'd asked dozens of men. What did Castiel do? What was he in for? Martin's hands went to his face and he shook his head.

"No, no, no! Don't ask me," Martin trembled. "He'll throw me off a ledge."

"He's not gonna throw you off a ledge!"

"I'm not as young as I used to be. I wouldn't make it," Martin worried. "Just go away. Leave me alone!"

"You know the truth, don't you?" Dean eased forward.

"I gave you that newspaper date, boy! That's all I can do," Martin groaned, now regretting having been such a helpful guy. "Why didn't you read it?"

"It wasn't there! All the friggin' papers were gone!"

"Oh," Martin blinked. "He is a wily one."

"Would you tell me what it said?"

Martin shook his head yet again and scurried away. Dean could have pursued him, but he didn't feel right terrorizing an old, unhinged man. He returned to the library. _Innocents. Children. Women. Preachers. Nuns._ Every tale was a nightmare to Dean. The only men as feared as Castiel were Death and the late Alastair.

Unhappily, Dean remembered Alastair. He recalled how he had once been tied up and hurting, listening to all of the tales the serial killer had told him as he had cut into Dean's body and soul. Keeping his victims alive for as long as possible had been Alastair's greatest pleasure. He triumphed when he broke new records. It wasn't about death, he had told Dean, it was about _suffering_. Alastair had told Dean of the sounds his victims had made and of the way their flesh had looked, freshly peeled. Alive or dead, he had violated his victims for some twisted reason. Alastair had even spoken to Dean about having tasted his victims in a very literal sense, and yet he had never been convicted for cannibalism. He had grinned about it as he had told Dean of how he'd destroyed evidence so fully they had never even considered that particular crime during any of his hearings.

The Winchester fell into a dark, nauseous place. Thinking about Alastair again made him feel physically unwell. Castiel wasn't like Alastair. If Dean knew only two things of the world it was that the sun rose in the East and that Cas was no Alastair. Dean couldn't see Cas torturing victims or eating their flesh and he was glad none of the peculiar stories he had heard consisted of such details.

"Mr. Winchester, good afternoon! I have a hankering for something light-hearted today." Death addressed Dean. "Maybe a novel."

Dean started when he saw the old, dark-haired man. Death, the infamous hitman. He knew why Death was feared. He was an expert assassin. He didn't mix business and pleasure. Death honored his code, and carried it out in his cold way. Still, there he was, hoping to get his hands on a light-hearted novel.

"How is it that Cas got the death penalty and Alastair didn't?" Dean cried.

Death closed his eyes momentarily, groaning internally. This was going to be another visit to the library where they were going to philosophize about Cas. "What I would not give for a librarian that was slightly less queer."

Death ignored Dean and walked over to the stacks. Who did light-hearted novels? _Jane Austen._ He could do with a romance. Sometimes it was entertaining to see people's silly love stories. As expected, Dean tailed him and badgered him about Cas.

"I know he's set to get the chair, so you can tell me what he did now."

"Where do you keep the Austen?" Death asked. "Have you read her work? I'm told it's quite good."

"I know it's a part of the fucking 'rules,' but you don't really think Cas would try to take you on, do you?" Dean continued. "You can tell me. He wouldn't hurt you."

On his own, Death finally pulled out a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ and smiled. Then, his eyes caught _Sense and Sensibility_ nearby and he felt conflicted."Oh, what to pick…"

"Death." Dean snatched the book from the other inmate's hands and immediately felt the sting of enraged eyes upon him. Slowly, he handed the book back.

"I am not afraid of Castiel," Death seethed. "What is he but a child with a foul temper? I'm old, Dean. I've seen many things. So many wicked and violent deeds that Castiel is insignificant to me. As are you."

"Insignificant, my ass," Dean pouted and shoved his hands into his pockets. Death made him feel small. "If it's all so insignificant, what's with the cloak and dagger? It's significant if you want to hide it."

"Hush, boy. Your rambling will do nothing to move me." He pulled _Northanger Abbey_ off the shelf. "I'm not afraid of him. I don't care what he has done, but I do respect a contract."

Dean's eyebrows drew together.

"If someone is on my list, that someone is dead. Do you think people want to hire an assassin that can't keep his word?" Death set three books in Dean's hands. "Well before you were a young lad dreaming of being some hero solider, I made a pact with Castiel. I intend to keep to it. Ring these books up for me, if you please."

Dean hurried to the desk, followed by Death. "Fine, I get it. All I wanted was to know what he's done. I don't want him to die without knowing why."

"How sad for you."

Dean glanced up at Death, bursting with a young man's pain.

"Oh, I did tell you not to get too close to him, didn't I? You didn't listen," Death sighed. "Chair or no chair, he's bound to die. No man can cheat death. All things are temporary."

"Says the man looking for something light-hearted…" Dean mumbled under his breath as he marked Death's name down in the checkout list.

"Take heart, Winchester. He believes he's going to see a Great Man in the sky when it's all said and done. That, at least, brings him some respite."

Dean stilled. "You don't believe in that, do you? You don't believe in God either."

"There's only one god. Anubis. Hades. Yama." Death answered, "Pluto, and so on…"

Dean wasn't surprised. "Death gods?"

"One for every continent, and yet fundamentally the same deity. That's the only real god," the old man explained. "Fairytale gods of salvation and so on, if they even exist, all bow to Death. Just like every human being."

"So, uh…" Dean cleared his throat. "Tell me how you like that Austen, huh?"

Death inclined his head with a thank you and a curt twitch of his lip that was not quite a smile. "Good day, Dean."

* * *

His talk with Death was sobering. Dean went to the mess hall for dinner, absolutely terrified of the finality of what Castiel was facing. Unlike Death, Dean didn't even believe in a death god. He was sure if Cas fried, he'd be put into the earth only to decompose into a sludge that would be consumed by the critters within the dirt. When Castiel joined their group, Charlie and Gabriel both snickered uncontrollably. His face was still covered in bloody toilet paper.

"What's wrong with you?" Gabriel laughed. He pulled off the little pieces of paper from his indifferent mug.

"What the hell happened to your face?" Dean fought a smile. Even if he hadn't been allowed to freshen him up, he was still happy to see Cas clean and among others. This was progress. "I know you can shave better than that."

Death lowered his copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ to take in Castiel's countenance for a handful of seconds. Quickly, he absorbed himself in the obstacles faced by Elizabeth Bennet again.

Cas muttered something, but all Dean heard was, "Gabriel."

"You did this?" Dean pointed his fork at Gabe.

"It was an accident!" Gabriel replied. "He wouldn't stop moving." Castiel wanted to say he couldn't stop moving because he didn't trust Gabriel with a blade so close to his face, but he remained quiet.

Cas ate slowly, all the while wincing from the pain of the nicks on his face. He couldn't finish all his food, so Charlie and Gabriel ate the rest for him. Their table again felt like one of a family.

Not long after they'd been fed, Dean found himself wandering to Castiel's cell. Cas was there, sitting with a faraway look in his eyes. Dean thought he looked shell-shocked, like even his own bed sheets and the bricks of his cell walls were befuddling. For possibly the first time since they'd met, Dean startled Cas with his sudden presence.

His pupils constricted as he looked in Dean's direction. There was still too much sunlight and too many lights for his eyes. He shielded his eyes and backed over to the corner of his bed. Dean entered and took a place beside him.

"The light hurts your eyes?" Dean asked as he pulled away his hands.

"Yes," Castiel answered.

"Do you still want me to leave you alone?"

_Of course not_. Castiel's eyes said no, but he didn't want to say it. "It's not about what I want."

"Yes, it is." Dean responded. Then, curiously, he added, "What are you thinking?"

Now that Castiel was sparkling clean, it was all the more impossible for Dean to stay away from him. He smelled nice and looked wonderful, in spite of the tiny cuts on his face. Dean was close to him when he whispered, "Would you hate it if I kissed you again?"

Castiel crumbled in Dean's hands. "No," he breathed.

Dean tilted Castiel's face up and captured his lips with a kind, tender kiss. When he was near Cas, he couldn't think of all the things the other inmates had told him about him. All Dean saw was someone that was scared, hurting, and in desperate need. He had missed kissing Cas more than he could ever miss working on cars, so he put his heart into it. When he was done, Castiel felt like relaxed putty in his hands.

"What is this about, Cas? If it's not about you and what you want?" Dean asked, nudging the side of his face with his nose.

"You," Cas exhaled in response. Everything was about Dean, naturally.

"You're going to have to explain that."

Cas pushed Dean away gently with one hand. What he was thinking could fill books, and yet he couldn't respond with a single, concise answer. He was deeply embarrassed because he felt so in the wrong. _You deserve better._ "I should have never touched you."

Here, Dean became angry again. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he hissed. "Am I that bad?"

"N-No," Cas buried a hand in the front of Dean's shirt. " _I_ am."

Dean exhaled a heaving breath of frustration. He wanted to shake whatever had gotten into Cas right out of him. "Is this about your crime?" Dean could tell it was by the why Cas lost the nerve to look at him. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that, hmm?"

Castiel reverted back into a hushed terror. Dean was quickly losing his cool.

"You don't get to decide what I can handle and what I can't," Dean glared. "You can tell me anything. I've told you this a hundred fucking times."

"Not this."

"God damn it!" Dean cursed, starting to wonder if Cas wanted him to hate him. "Whether you tell me or not, I will find out."

"Don't!" Cas' voice throbbed with apprehension. He was pleading. Dean started to get up.

"I'll ask everyone in this joint until I get the right answer."

"Dean, please!" Castiel pulled on Dean's clothing, and broke into a sweat. The thought of Dean knowing his past provoked symptoms in Cas similar to those of an imminent breakdown. "You can't."

Dean had just about reached his limits when it came to people telling him what he could or could not know or do. "Why. Not."

"Why don't you tell me about those scars on your legs?!" Castiel urged out of desperation. He'd always wondered about them, but the Winchester was mum about those marks, like he was about many of the scars on his body.

"Fuck you very much." Dean turned a shade paler than he had been. Cas must have known those were scars from the war because they were a little bit better healed than those left by Lisa and Alastair's gang. They weren't as fresh, at least physically. He ripped Cas' hands from his shirt. "It's not the same thing. Don't you turn this on me. This is about you, you god damned coward."

Cas was apologizing to Dean over and over in his mind. He was a failure when it came to expressing himself. He hadn't meant to cause Dean greater harm at all, only to show him that some things were better kept secret. His past was a wound on his psyche – a repellent stamp of shame. Castiel couldn't bear to see Dean leave with things as they were, so in a crestfallen voice, he said something else, "I don't want you to look at me like everyone else does. That's why."

Dean contemplated that response. He knew the way Ruby and Miggs looked at Cas, and he knew the way the others avoided him like the plague. But, Dean wasn't like the other guys. Dean knew the good in Cas too. "That reason just isn't good enough."

"Every time I talk about it, I'm afraid," Castiel admitted. He clawed into Dean's shirtsleeve and forced him near again. "When I remember what I saw, I'm afraid I'll remember who I was."

That horror was evident on Castiel's face in deep lines of distress that caused Dean pause.

"I don't want to remember. I never want to remember. If I do, I might become that person again," Cas said. "I could hurt more people. People that don't deserve to be hurt."

_You_.

That was more information than Dean ever expected to hear from Cas. Castiel was shaking in such a way that Dean felt compelled to pull him close. They settled together on the bed, Dean stroking over Cas' dark hair. "I've only seen you hurt people that had it comin'. Baby, you ain't talkin' sense."

"…sorry."

Castiel had said his piece and had nothing else to add. Dean wouldn't be able to lodge these particular worries out of Castiel's mind with any words he had to speak. Incredulously, Dean asked, "What? Are you worried you might hurt Gabe and me? Charlie? That's impossible." Dean soothed Cas with his gentle touches. "You wouldn't do that."

Castiel wasn't sure of that at all. He was so worn from their discussion that he prayed inside that Dean would stop talking about it. His prayers became like a mantra that only barely held him together. Dean not knowing had always comforted Cas because his ignorance made it easier for Cas to claim ignorance as well. He wanted to pretend it had never happened for the rest of his life so he would never have to face having once been a murderous, loathsome being. As Cas remained unwilling to talk about the topic any further, Dean contemplated alone.

From what he'd heard, it sounded like Castiel believed he had an uncontrollable alter ego. Whatever had happened to Cas was darker than anything Dean would have anticipated. He still couldn't understand it all, but he let Cas rest in his arms without stressing him about the matter more.

Eventually, they slept. Dean didn't dream of anything with Castiel's form wrapped on top of him. He woke up a few moments before the nightly count and observed the man who was described as both monster and child. Castiel could not be both, could he?

* * *

The next few days were stressful. Dean continued to wonder how someone that brought him so much tranquility could be capable of doing something terrible enough to be punishable by death. Especially now, when Castiel appeared so timorous and helpless, the idea of him being a great 'murder machine' sounded positively implausible.

Castiel was still afraid to talk to Dean, so he said very little to anyone. He continued to feel alarmed by the busyness and the slew of sensations that were commonplace outside of the hole. Cas was easily startled and kept away from the light whenever he could. Dean could tell it drained him to be present during all their meal times, as men crowded around him. He wasn't sure if Cas was more afraid of the other men or of himself. Cas returned to work in the library with considerable reluctance.

Dean was stocking the bookshelves when he noticed Castiel's absence from the library. A moment ago, four inmates had entered and Dean been too occupied to recognize that Castiel had vanished with their arrival. The Winchester didn't need to go far to find him. He found Cas in the rear hallway, sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest. In the dim hallway, Dean took a knee beside him. "What are you doing back here?"

"It's better here. Quieter," Cas whispered.

Dean was perplexed and troubled by the changes in Cas. It was like he couldn't remove himself from the mindset of being in the cooler. He was so worried about Cas that he went to Gabriel for advice. Gabriel told him this situation was what he'd been worried would happen to Cas. He told Dean that keeping someone like Cas in the hole for long periods of time had awful consequences.

Dean asked what he meant by 'someone like Cas,' and Gabriel replied with vague, non-answers. "Everyone reacts differently to being in the hole," Gabe explained. "Sometimes Cas can handle it. Usually he can't."

"What am I supposed to do?" Dean asked.

"Keep doing what you're doing. Talk to him. Keep him company," Gabriel advised. "He's regressed a little bit. That's what this is."

"I want him to be like he was before," Dean said. He had some selfish reasons, but he also wanted Cas to gain strength for his own well being. He missed the Cas that he had believed had endless fortitude. He was the Cas that bantered with him and teased him. He flirted and held him with passionate energy. Castiel was so lost now that Dean wondered if the other Castiel he had known had only been a very good act the whole time.

Gabriel rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb. There would always be a part of Cas that was the Cas they saw now. "And I want chocolate, Dean. I _really_ want chocolate." Gabriel snapped, wishing hard that chocolate would appear before him, but nothing happened. "You can't just snap your fingers and change him. It takes time."

If he had known of a way to force Cas to pull himself together, Dean would have tried it. Gabriel offered more counsel, "Just don't let him sit in the dark, or he'll stay there forever. The way to get him used to the sunlight again isn't to keep him away from it."

With these words of advice, Dean didn't give up. He took Cas outside, but not to their usual place on the bleachers of the yard. They found a spot near the backside of the library where they had once burned an old prisoner's cap. Though it was a sunny day, Castiel could tolerate the location because it was vacant. Dean pulled him down and told him to listen as he played the guitar. Listening to Dean's strumming, Cas rested and squinted up at the sky.

"You play so well," he said.

"Thanks," Dean grinned.

Then, Cas said something he'd been thinking for a while since returning. "You don't work on cars anymore."

"Nah."

"It's my fault, isn't it?"

"I don't know," Dean replied, honestly. He settled down on his side to lie by Cas. "Not everything is your fault."

Cas felt Dean's hand cover his own and their fingers folded together. Around them was such an atmosphere of calm that Dean felt emboldened to tell Cas of his recent doings. He hoped Cas would be comforted by what he had to say. "I'm not going to let you fry," Dean remarked, suddenly. "We're going to get out."

"Dean, no," Castiel gasped, a look of bewilderment in his eyes.

"I've made up my mind about it. There's nothing you can say or do to stop me." Dean hovered over Castiel's body, blocking out the sun so Cas could get a good look at him. "I'll find a way. There's always another way."

Over the weeks Castiel had been away, Dean had regarded the prison as a creature that needed to be defeated. In his eyes, it was no longer a compound. The prison was a gargantuan squid, with four tentacles spreading out, reaching for the walls and the points of the pentagon that trapped it. Each tentacle arm held prisoners, while the brain housed Zachariah's office, the garage, the reception hall, and the lockers for the guards. The prison, like any other creature, had to have weaknesses.

Dean had watched as the perimeter patrolman made his rounds outside of the huge pentagonal wall of stone. There were massive blind spots they could exploit. Though every guard tower was fixed with floodlights, they couldn't cover every spot at once during the night. He told Castiel his thoughts and Cas listened, looking grimmer by the second. The only things Castiel had to say to Dean after he was done talking were disheartening.

"This is why I never wanted to tell you anything," Cas said. He had known Dean would react with plans, ideas, and hope. All of these things were dangerous to Cas, especially if he began to believe in them as well. They would only make dying all the more difficult. "I'm going to die here."

"Don't say that!"

Castiel spoke like he was revealing a prophecy. "Like it or not… Sooner or later, it will happen," Cas told Dean. "I've come to terms with it."

"How could you?" Dean inquired. "How can you be okay with being put down like a dog?"

Dean spoke harshly and bluntly, which Castiel thought was good. It was good for Dean to understand that Cas was no more than a dog to the people in charge. "It's just," Castiel answered Dean. "I've had a trial. I am guilty. The chair is supposed to be very humane. I'm told I won't feel a thing."

Horror of every shade invaded Dean's being. Now that Cas was really talking about it, he wanted him to stop.

"A quick, painless death is better than what many people in this life get," Cas said. "Please understand, I don't need you to save me from it."

Castiel left Dean completely flabbergasted. With Castiel gone, Dean strode up and down the back of the library. He kicked the empty trashcan lid that served as a sometimes fire pit with fury. The metal clanged against brick loudly.

Dean couldn't tolerate the reality Cas wanted him to believe. His feelings festered inside him with increasing strength into the evening. At last, he couldn't contain himself anymore. Dean rushed over to Castiel's cell to give him a piece of his mind.

"Why do you get to call all the shots?" he shouted. "You don't listen to anything I say! You don't tell me anything I really want to know!"

He paced and cursed. "You vanish for weeks because of hard-headed shit _you_ think is a good idea? How is that okay, but my plan isn't?"

"Lower your voice," Cas urged.

"Blow me, Cas!" Dean narrowed his eyes, "But you wouldn't anymore, would you? Somehow, my dick is too holy for your lips. You are so full of it."

Dean wanted Castiel to get up and fight him like he wanted Cas to fight for his life, but Castiel didn't disagree. Cas thought he was doing right by Dean, but everything he'd done so far seemed to be blowing up in his face. "I get it, you don't wanna tell me what you did because it's so fucking awful," Dean got near Cas and looked down at him. "It's alright. You don't have to tell me."

Castiel finally felt more at ease around the belligerent Winchester. When Dean took his usual place by his side, he thought maybe the worst was over. "You don't have to tell me now, because you're going to promise to tell me when I bust us out of here," Dean asserted.

Cas wouldn't answer. He was absolutely overwhelmed.

"You don't want to tell me because you're afraid to die with me thinking you're some shit person," Dean reasoned. "Fine. If I fail, you can take your damn secret to your grave. But if I don't, you're telling me the day we get out."

Castiel's lips fell apart. When he again tried to avoid his eyes, Dean pulled his face towards him. "Look at me, you son of a bitch," he growled. "Say you're at least going to do this for me. Give me a chance."

Dean didn't know what he was defending. "If you knew, you would want me on that chair."

"You don't know that." Dean held Cas firmly. "Say it. Say you'll give it a chance."

"It's not that I have a problem with escape generally," Cas answered in a hushed tone. "I would want you to make it, if you could. Just don't take me with you."

"Why the hell shouldn't I? And don't say because you're a bad person. I'm a bad person."

"They would go looking for me," Castiel told Dean. "More than they would look for you. I'm a 'continuing danger to society.' Many people want me dead and they will find a way to end my life."

"On the outside, we could definitely make it together," Dean promised Cas. "We'd change our names. Travel."

"That's what you want for you?" Cas asked Dean. "What if civilians that recognized me on the outside tried to kill me? That is what you would live."

"Then I'll live it," Dean replied. "All I know is that I'm not gonna do nothin'."

Dean was so stubborn, Cas thought, but he was also very right about some things. "I'll give you a chance."

"Really?" Dean lit up. "You won't renege on me, will ya?"

"No. Try your hardest," Castiel said, thinking that Dean wouldn't get further than Gabriel had. Still, a part of him thought Dean had what it took to find an escape. Maybe he _could_ do it. "At any rate… You deserve to be out."

"And you don't deserve to die like a dog."

Cas could not concur. In the first place, most dogs never harmed anyone. If one of the prison staff came and took him right then to shoot him in the head, Castiel wouldn't fight it because he would feel it was what he had coming. He didn't understand why Dean fought this idea so fervently. Cas tried to give Dean every motive to back out. "Someday, you may regret fighting so hard for someone like me."

"I guess that's true." Dean looked down. "But that's what being human is about, isn't it? We regret shit all the time. If it comes to that, I'll deal with it then. If I'm right, which I think I am, this'll all be worth it."

"Right about what?" Castiel pried innocently.

"About you." Dean met his eyes again. "You're connected with something awful. I can't say anything about that, but I know that whatever it was… whatever you were… You don't have to be that forever. You're not that person you were, and you don't have to be him again. The stuff from the past… it'll always matter," Dean paused. "But what you do now matters too."

Dean spoke as if he were reading the pages of Castiel's soul. There were so many times Cas had asked God if he could ever be redeemed or if he could ever change enough to matter in His eyes. According to the Winchester, he could and _had_ made a transformation that was significant. He loved Dean with such a force then that he felt the inklings of hope for himself and the possibility of their future together settle into his heart. Cas was so in love with Dean in that moment that he was afraid it was written all over his face.

"Cas?" Dean blinked and inched closer to the other man, worried he'd said something that crossed the line.

"Are you proposing that we could be regular do-gooders once we got to the outside?" Cas' voice was cool, smooth, and chased with a slight grin. "Maybe vigilantes? Sounds like a comic book fantasy."

"That's not what I meant! Just in general we can try to be better - hey, you're smiling!" Dean interjected when he saw his growing grin. He was overjoyed by its presence and rewarded Cas' small smile with a kiss. "Fucking wise guy."

"Is this all we'll be talking about from now on?" Cas leaned back, voicing his concerns, "My execution and escape?"

Dean cleared his throat. He'd done his best to be sensitive to Cas, while at the same time trying to cover everything he thought was important. However essential they were, not even Dean could be completely consumed by these topics.

"…Because if it is, I at least want to be fucked like it's my last night on Earth."

Caught off guard, Dean watched Cas for a hot instant before the dark-haired male could no longer restrain himself. He hoped Dean was not too terrified or repelled by him to reject his advances, but in case he was, Cas acted with swift vigor. He kissed Dean deeply and heatedly, like he expected to never kiss him again. It didn't matter that Dean had been giving him sweet pecks ever since he'd gotten out. Cas still worried they were kisses of pity and that even they would cease someday soon.

When Cas kissed him, Dean was more than ready. He'd been waiting and wishing for Cas' desire to return to its full power. Almost overwhelmed with exhilaration, he let his hands roam over Castiel's body as he eagerly returned his kisses. "No, that's not all I wanna talk about," Dean answered in an apologetic tone, in between kisses.

Morbid topics had consumed his mind since Cas' stint away, but Dean knew they should somehow try to carry on as normally as possible. Cas pushed him down on the bed and pinned him in place, growling, "You're still talking about it. I can see you thinking about it."

Dean gasped and Castiel's lips stole his perplexed breath. Dean's tongue reached out to brush against the furious, frustrated lips that were doing a better job of distracting him from dark thoughts than Cas could ever know. "You're wrong," Dean puffed. "I'm thinking about how gorgeous you are. How much I missed you."

The Winchester's hands slipped from Cas' grasp and over the muscles of Castiel's torso, beneath his shirt. He was sturdy as ever in that chiseled way that made Dean want to savor every last bit of him. He tore off Castiel's shirt to get a better look and practically salivated at the sight of him. Cas bent down again hastily to press their mouths together. The way Dean beheld him with brazen longing caused each of Cas' kisses to smolder with even greater intensity.

Castiel's mouth developed a taste for Dean's neck. It had been far too long since he'd felt Dean's pulse quicken beneath his lips. Promptly, Cas' tongue was licking the lower, outside curve of his ear as Dean fought to loosen his pants from below. Dean's hands worked impatiently and soon his mouth was traveling a hurried path down Cas' chest to meet his hands at Castiel's waist. Dean regretted the loss of Castiel's mouth on his neck for only seconds because that wonderful sensation was replaced by the delicate, clean smell of soap on his body and the warm feeling of Cas' firm skin on his tongue.

Dean groped handfuls of Cas' tight ass when he lowered the other man's pants down his thighs. Softly, Cas sighed Dean's name when he felt his tongue and lips press against the sensitive underside of his cock. Cas caressed the short strands of his light brown hair and marveled at how magnificent the smooth spikes felt against his fingers. Dean had gotten a haircut since he'd been away.

In response to the light touches on the back of his head, Dean moaned around the hard length in his mouth. He sucked away like it was his only duty, pulling Cas forward with the massaging hands he kept on his backside. Sweltering with arousal, Cas tugged on Dean's hair and shirt. He felt like he must have been out of his mind to ever push Dean away. Cas satisfied Dean's greedy mouth with instinctive trusts, enlightened anew to how good the Winchester was.

"Dean, I'm coming!" Cas warned him in a low, pitiful cry. Dean heeded his warning with perfect timing, pulling away just in time to let Cas come all over his face. The tiny sound of alarm that Cas made at the sight of his essence all over Dean set a grin on the other convict's face. Dean wiped his right brow, glad he'd closed his eyes at the correct moment. Fluid trailed from his forehead down to the bridge of his nose and over his full lips.

"You can't tell me you didn't miss this." Dean looked up to meet Cas' blues and he glowed with joy at the redness creeping on his face.

"Dean, you – you – " Castiel huffed, at a loss for words because Dean was a mess. Cas wasn't sure if he'd ever seen a man so happy to be so sullied.

"I did it on purpose," Dean replied. Honestly, he wasn't completely sure why, but it probably had to do with his desire to mix completely with the man in front of him. Inspired, Dean undid his own pants and collected some of the stickiness on his face to apply with spit to his own erection. Sitting beside him, pulling in shallow lusty breaths, Cas stared at Dean adoringly.

"You never said you missed me," Dean told the other man. Cas wondered if this was some kind of fantastic dream as he watched Dean stroke himself. He'd been entirely struck dumb. "Did you miss me, Cas?"

"I miss you right now!" Cas blurted out and immediately felt like an idiot. "I mean – yes! All the time. Every second. Every second I was gone."

Dean didn't cease his self love even when Castiel suddenly pressed him back down on the bed. Dirty or not, Cas kissed his face and lips enthusiastically. He tried to clean Dean with his tongue, but seemed to only exacerbate the problem. With his free hand, Dean pulled Cas down by his neck so they could kiss more deeply, melding their tongues together hotly. Dean could have come just from the pleasure of feeling that warm tongue exploring his mouth yet again. The sounds of his ever more heated, slick strokes permeated the air along with his muffled moans. "Dean, wait," Cas panted. " _Wait!_ "

Playfully, Dean questioned, "Why should I?"

"Take off your clothes," Cas begged as he kicked off his pants.

"You're not the boss of me," Dean mumbled to Castiel's lips, continuing to stroke himself rebelliously.

"I'm about to be," Cas said in such a dark way that Dean lifted both his hands. He let Cas tear away his clothes, curious and excited for what was to come. When he saw Cas reach for the lubricant they kept nearby, Dean frowned, until he saw Cas apply it to his own body. Dean covered his mouth out of the fear that he would make some embarrassing vocalization as he witnessed the sensual expression Cas wore as he fingered himself. Cas didn't spend even half the time preparing himself as he sometimes took on Dean. He was too eager to fuck himself on Dean's cock for that.

Cas sunk down slow, giving Dean a chance to appreciate every twitch of his muscles. He was a feast for the eyes to Dean. Even without Cas moving, his cock was throbbing inside his body. _Fuck_. Dean swallowed.

With careful rolls, Cas began his utter domination of Dean gently. It wasn't long before Cas was moving energetically on top of him because Dean felt as good inside him as he looked with Castiel's come still clinging to his cheek. Castiel's hands searched for purchase on Dean's abs as he rode him hard, making the bed creak from his effort. Moaning, Dean clung to Castiel's hips and waist, a chorus of curses ringing in his brain. Dean threw his head back and thrust into Cas passionately.

Then, Cas was bending over him, holding the planes of his face and giving him frantic kisses. Not once did his stamina to ride him dwindle. "You're perfect," Cas whispered to Dean's mouth. " _Beautiful_."

The Winchester responded by grabbing fistfuls of dark hair as he pounded deep within Cas to the spot that provoked quiet sounds of ecstasy from Castiel. Kissing him with breathless, feverish kisses, Dean believed Cas was undeniably sexy. He could not believe the magnificence of all the sensations Castiel inspired within him.

"Come," Cas pleaded, "I want you to fill me."

Abruptly, Dean sat up and gripped Cas tight, bringing him down on his dick until his thrusts became haphazard. Dean could not get enough of Cas and he felt every grind, breath, and word from Castiel was driving him wild. The shy tip of Castiel's tongue touched his sullied lips and Dean came suddenly into his depths with groans. "Fuck, Cas!" He dug his teeth over Castiel's collar and kissed his sweaty skin.

Dean trailed his fingers to Cas' cock and noted he was hard again. Fighting to catch his breath, Dean caressed his erection with languid, loving movements. His other hand settled over the arch of his ass, squeezing Cas. With Dean still sheathed in his body, Cas came for a second time over both their chests. They made faint, satiated sounds all while their tired mouths struggled to meet yet again.

_I love you, baby_ , Dean thought and, for a moment, was afraid he'd said it out loud.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel reveals a number of unexpected details about his past that Dean struggles to process. Dean begins to plot ever more seriously for their escape, calling upon all his friends for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting patiently! I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

* * *

 

Both of Castiel's arms were wrapped snugly around Dean as the two men shared oxygen and heat. Cas didn't want to move away from Dean's lap because he did not want that moment to end. He was tingling with bliss and intoxicated by everything Dean. Cas adored the soft sounds of Dean's breathing and the way his gentle hand trailed over his abs, smearing lines of come on his hot skin. Cas was so sensitive that the gesture evoked miniscule hums of delight from his mouth.

"You feel so good," Dean cried in a low tone. He pressed his cheek to Castiel's and continued to knead his ass in slow, doting caresses. "You have no idea how much I missed you."

Dean hadn't just missed his physical presence; he'd missed Castiel's strength, intellectual quickness, and compassion that had been lost even after his return to the general prison. At last, Dean felt they were truly together, in every possible sense. Castiel held him tighter, still too hypersensitive and giddy to make cognizant remarks.

"I wanna stay inside you forever…" Dean groaned and rubbed his face into Castiel's neck. Tenderly, he tasted the salt on Castiel's skin.

"Be my guest," Cas replied in a whisper. They were quite still until eventually Dean lowered Cas down on the thin mattress to leave kisses on his chest. Dean pulled out of Cas with reluctance, intrigued by every noise that came from him as he kept lavishing him with love. "You're ruining my cred, Dean," Cas complained in a tone that was nothing other than admiring. "I'm supposed to be cold-blooded."

"Ain't nothing cold about you," Dean hissed and sank his teeth over Castiel's heart to prove his point. Cas moaned in a way that drew Dean's vivid green eyes to his face. "You're sexy, sweetheart. Too sexy."

_Sweetheart_. Cas had missed all the little names Dean called him. He was sure Dean must have used that pet name on dozens of women before him, but Castiel appreciated it nonetheless because he never would have imagined someone could ever associate him with a sweet heart of any kind.

"How'd you learn to ride like that?" Dean posed in a lusty, playful tenor.

Cas gave the man between his legs a gentle smile, "I had the best teacher."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean replied, amused. "I don't move like that."

Dean most certainly did, but Castiel teased him anyway. "I was talking about Gabriel."

"You son of a – !" Dean broke into a laugh and shoved the pillow on Cas' face for an instant before removing it to peer down at him with a gaze of pure affection. Castiel's hair was mussed against the sheets in that manner that made him look incredibly handsome to Dean. Dean traced his thumb over Castiel's face and they admired each other for a while before Cas suddenly moved to pull an end of the sheets to his mouth. Cas licked the cotton and began to wipe Dean's face with the sheet.

"Ugh, Cas!" Dean became giggly as Castiel cleaned the come off his face. He rolled onto his back and let Cas wipe him off, tickled with pleasure all the while. Cas cleaned him well, but couldn't get the scent of sex off Dean's skin. That was just as well because Dean liked smelling of Cas.

Soon, Cas pressed his mouth to Dean's. "Sleep with me, would you?" Castiel begged. He wanted to sleep with Dean everyday he had left of his miserable life. "Please?"

"You don't even have to ask. I love sleeping with you, babe," Dean answered. There was almost too much joy for one jail cell as the men wove their naked bodies together in warm comfort. Their breathing turned into a soothing, synchronized melody just before they fell into a deep slumber.

As ever, their love went noticed by others. Such fond displays of companionship in a room with only three walls were bound to be seen. Andréal was making his rounds when he came across them sleeping together. The sight of Dean and Cas struck him in a profound manner. The rookie guard had been warned of the many things he might face while working at the penitentiary. The veterans had cautioned him about the sodomy and rape he was likely to witness during his tenure, but not a single man had ever explained the possibility of this scenario to him. Andréal wasn't prone to romantic musings, but when he saw Dean and Cas together, he thought they were beautiful.

* * *

Dean woke up first. The sun had set but they still had a good deal of time left before the nightly count. He woke up to see Cas stretched on top of him, breathing gently into his skin. Dean's hand rested on his lower back and his gaze soon wandered to Castiel's naked behind.

_And he says I'm perfect?_

Dean smirked to himself. He would have been lying if he had denied having the strong desire to slap Cas' rear in that moment. But, he resisted. Castiel was sleeping too peacefully to disturb. Dean closed his eyes again and drifted off to thoughts of Castiel's wonderful body.

When Castiel's emotive blue eyes slipped open it was obvious guilt had settled back into his being. He blinked and frowned, once more picking up his constant quarrel with himself. His wakefulness roused the Winchester.

"Hey."

A voice fell on Castiel's ears. Cas tilted his face up to recognize the well-known green upon him. Their eye contact was brief, as Cas focused on something other than Dean. Gabriel was right. Dean was right. He was beginning to see how Dean's absolute selflessness and devotion was rewarded so sparingly. _What to say?_

"I don't remember my trial."

"What?" Dean perked up, eyebrows raised. Castiel's cheek was again pressed to his chest and he didn't turn to look up at him.

"Not in the same way I don't remember everything else. I remember being there," Cas explained. "Lawyers, the jury, the judge. People. But I don't remember much of what happened or what was said."

Dean was amazed. Castiel was talking to him about his past, unbidden.

"I just wanted you to know… something…" Cas struggled. He was so unaccustomed to talking about these things that he wasn't sure how to go on. "I do remember that they said, um, they said that I was… Impaired. Unwell. Mentally ill…"

How could he ever forget? Everyday, multiple times a day, he'd been accused of being mentally unstable – mocked and despised for it. Castiel swallowed and took a moment, while Dean waited with bated breath in the silent cell.

"I don't know. It must have seemed that way. You probably would have thought so too. They asked so many questions, and most of the time, I didn't answer – not because I didn't want to… I just didn't understand what was happening." Castiel's eyes flicked around the cell at anything but Dean. "I frustrated everyone. My lawyer thought I was an idiot."

"I couldn't answer the simplest questions," Cas fretted, remembering how difficult it had been to be the subject of attention to so many hateful eyes. "What was my last name? What had I been doing there? Why did I do it? _How?_ "

Dean's hand lifted up to stroke Castiel's hair. Cas remembered the scorn that had resounded in the courtroom when he had announced his name was 'Castiel.' He had known with certainty that that was his name and yet he had been derided for offering the little information he'd had. Dean kept quiet, anxious to hear whatever else Cas had to say.

"They thought I was making everything up. They said I was faking amnesia to get away with it. They said I was faking being crazy," Cas exhaled, disturbed by his recollections. "But I didn't know I was crazy until they told me."

"Why did they think you were crazy?" Dean asked and Cas stilled in thought.

"I lacked emotion. Everyone said that. I never showed open remorse at my trial. I never cried, not even when the families were there in tears. Not even when I received my sentence. I don't know why. They all hated me for that." Cas hesitated to go on, "Only someone out of their mind could have done what I did."

Castiel froze, worried Dean would ask him what he had done. Instead, Dean said, "But you do feel sorry."

"Of course. But, those days in the courtroom were different. They were a blur. I was overwhelmed. I could never focus. I couldn't think straight and I don't think I said more than a handful of words during my entire trial. Most of what I did say didn't seem to make sense to anyone. Along with my memory loss, it became apparent to everyone that I needed to be evaluated by someone."

Though Cas still didn't look at Dean, Dean could tell Cas' confusion over the trial and what had been said to him was fresh, despite the years that had since passed. The frown on Cas' face had become a fixed feature. "Once people start thinking you're crazy, little of what you say matters." Softly, he said, "They didn't believe me when I told them my name was Castiel. They wouldn't even believe that."

In truth, Dean had wondered before if Castiel was remembering a false name. He remembered so little and his name was so odd that it sounded like it could have been fabrication. Now that he heard Cas' distress, Dean felt guilty for having thought such things.

"I don't know many things, but I know my name," Cas said firmly.

"It's a great name," Dean interjected. "One of a kind." The Winchester was afraid to pry too much and scare Cas into silence, so he asked an open-ended question. "How'd they go on with the trial if you couldn't remember anything?"

"Mainly, they kept asking the same things over and over again, thinking I'd crack or 'drop my act,'" Cas huffed in an indignant manner. Finally, he looked up at Dean. "I was the only witness and the only suspect, so they had no choice but to badger me."

"Hang on a minute." Dean's countenance became drawn in deliberation. "You were the only witness, but you didn't remember anything?"

Cas nodded and again looked away.

"Cas! How the fuck did they convict you if you didn't remember a damn thing? Do you even remember _doing it?_ "

"No," Castiel admitted. "I don't remember doing it."

Dean's jaw dropped. Before he could get riled up into a tirade, Cas elaborated with a statement that stunned him.

"But I confessed."

"For Pete's sake!" Dean spouted, "What the hell? You can't just confess to something you don't even remember doing! You did that? You _seriously_ did that?"

Cas was resolute and grave. "I know I did it. They knew I'd done it too, just by looking at me. It couldn't have been anyone else."

He couldn't tell Dean, but Cas remembered having stood at the scene, holding a weapon. He'd been covered in blood. The only living person for miles.

"God damn it!" Dean cursed, now worried that Cas had really been innocent this whole time.

"Don't," Cas implored Dean. "I'm not innocent. You have to believe me. I'm tired of people not believing me."

"But Cas – "

"I knew only three things. I knew the Bible by heart. I knew my name. And I knew I'd done it." Back then, so many things had been blurry and bewildering to Castiel, but those three things had been crystal clear. They were truths he could never deny.

Dean was shuddering with rage and alarm. "That's not a fair trial. You can't be convicted without solid evidence and without being in your right mind."

"There was evidence." Cas said, "Enough, anyway. I don't regret confessing."

_God damn it_. _Fuck_.

"Though, you're right…" Castiel went on, "All the things I couldn't remember and my behavior in general complicated my trial. But, as soon as I said I'd done it, I could tell they wanted to hang me on the spot. Even my lawyer couldn't stand to look at me most of the time."

Cas' lips turned into a slight, grimacing smile. If only they could have executed him the day of his verdict. He believed he would have been spared so much suffering and that justice would have been swift. The dragging of time, among other things, was torturous.

Dean remembered having heard about Castiel's lawyer. He wanted to know more, so he bit back his protests. "Gabriel told me a little about your lawyer. What's he like?"

"Did he? Hm." Cas was pensive. "His name is Noam Carter. He's… well, professional. Smart, businesslike. It's because of him that I've been alive this long."

"Where do I send the fanmail?" Dean asked, trying to inject some levity into their conversation. Castiel's expression did not betray an iota of joy.

"He was as skeptical about me as the others at first. He's used to defendants putting on airs of ignorance and instability to try to get lesser sentences or to disrupt their trials. But then, he started to believe me. He was the first person to believe that I wasn't faking anything. I imagine he spent enough time with me in counsel to see I really couldn't remember anything before getting arrested."

Mr. Carter was a distinctive man to Castiel's eyes. He always wore crisp white shirts with his pristine, heather gray suit. Mr. Carter was progressive and innovative, and had blue eyes that were both stern and compassionate. He was possibly the only person that could make Cas feel utterly inept. There was one thing that stuck in Castiel's head more than almost anything else about Noam. "He told me once that I'd come off the line with a crack in my chassis."

Castiel had always felt fundamentally flawed, but when he'd heard those words from the proper, educated man, Cas had felt that his defectiveness had been indisputably established. Noam was overall a patient man, but even he had his limits. Castiel had pushed him to them, unaware of how.

"Well… he must have done something right for you to still be here," Dean remarked quietly. Thanks to this lawyer, he'd gotten to meet Cas.

"He had me institutionalized, Dean."

Dean's heart dropped to his stomach and he regretted having opened his mouth at all. _In a nut house?_ Dean wondered, but bit his tongue.

The ivory-handled pen belonging to Mr. Carter had been both an instrument of salvation and horror. To this day, Cas did not know if Noam was a good person or a bad one. No matter how often he saved Castiel's life and told him he was trying to help, Cas sometimes believed he took strange pleasure in putting him through difficult ordeals. "I wish he would have let me die instead."

That wasn't the kind of statement Dean thought he could reply to at that moment. He was still trying to grasp the concept of Cas being institutionalized. Castiel was talking now like he couldn't cease the flow of words falling from his mouth even if he wanted to. Fear of Noam touched every syllable he spoke.

"He said I could be fixed. If I got the proper care, maybe I could remember. He said it was for my own good, but I think he just wanted me to become sane enough to be executed," Cas let out a short, absurd laugh. Sane or not, he was very likely to have been given the death penalty. "What a motive to get better."

Dean hated the laugh that came from Cas because it was so despairing.

"For a brief moment, I know he entertained the idea that I was innocent. Once he struck that notion down, there were times he believed that I didn't act alone. If I could remember what happened, I might have remembered if I had an accomplice."

"This is insane," Dean breathed. "Not you, this."

"It took two and a half years for all the paperwork to go through – for them to find an institution that had enough security for a violent criminal like me."

Dean still could not believe what he was hearing. "You were committed?"

"Yes," Cas answered. There was nothing sexy or endearing about what he was telling Dean. It hurt to say such things out loud, but he couldn't stop now that he'd begun. The process was cathartic to him. "For a time, I was transferred to Blackwater Asylum."

If Dean remembered correctly, Castiel must have been moved soon after winning the gang war against Raphael. He brought his palm to his forehead, saddened by the never-ending suffering that was Castiel's history.

"They wanted me. All the doctors, that is. They found my case interesting. Just like Mr. Carter, they thought I could be fixed, and they wanted to record every detail of my turnaround for posterity." Cas sniffled. "I felt like hazardous waste, constantly being moved from one container to another. Prodded. Tested. Introduced to new chemicals. But… The thing about hazardous waste is, it can never be uncontaminated. You just have to find somewhere to put it."

Cas had been free to wander at times, in chains and with a handler. The things he'd seen and heard on his walks had made him realize that he wasn't the only experiment there. Various persons suffered private cruelties.

During his days at the asylum, Castiel had felt as alone as he felt in solitary at prison. Books had been his only true friends at the penitentiary, but the asylum did not have a library that he had been allowed to access. Maybe it had been his own paranoia, but Castiel had also felt like he'd had eyes glued on him the entire time he'd been in residence in the asylum. Distant, cold eyes.

"They gave me drugs… most I couldn't pronounce. I'd never heard of… I took them at first, religiously, even when they did nothing."

Cas had soon come to hate the drugs. They hadn't gone through the appropriate trials, some of them. Those had been experiments, just like Castiel. But that didn't matter – not when the subject was a convict wanted for a heinous, bloody crime. "I didn't know what was wrong with me, but I didn't think I needed pills. They didn't help, so I stopped taking them. I hid them. I crushed them under my foot. I threw them in the toilet."

"But there were some treatments I couldn't avoid," Cas said. His voice was beginning to strain. "Have you ever heard of convulsive therapy? Shock therapy?"

Dean didn't answer.

"It's pretty self explanatory, I suppose. You're tied down and delivered electrical shocks to induce seizures. They put a bit in your mouth so you won't bite your tongue and they stick electrodes to your temples." Cas remembered how the doctor had checked his heart and lungs beforehand every time he received his therapy. The staff was meticulous about writing down everything about Cas in his file because the use of this therapy still wasn't widespread in the US. With mock pride, Cas said, "I got to be a test subject for it."

"What was the point in all of that?"

Cas shrugged. "They told me very little. I don't think the doctors were confident about what the results would be. I only know the therapy was supposed to 'revive' my brain. Change the chemicals inside me."

Disturbed, Dean's lips gathered together.

"A part of me thought they were warm-up sessions." Cas couldn't out right say he had been afraid, but it was clear on his face. "I knew I was going to get the chair eventually… so, why not practice?"

Perhaps being strapped down and shocked again and again would prepare Cas for the final jolt he knew was bound to receive someday. Dean squeezed Castiel so tightly he could have crushed him. "You don't have to tell me anymore if you don't want to."

"It's okay," Cas said with a sigh, "I want you to know."

Now maybe Dean would understand the depths of his deficiencies.

"The doctor said I was schizophrenic." Cas spoke in an unsure, questioning voice, like he still didn't understand his diagnosis. Dean wasn't entirely sure what that meant either. Whatever it was, he thought it sounded serious. He let Cas talk, uninterrupted.

"That's why they gave me shock therapy. It was supposed to help with that. I don't think they were trying to hurt me, but their methods were… unrefined."

_Jesus Christ_. Dean's jaw was set in stiff anger. How could all of this have happened to his Castiel? Cas propped himself on his arms to look down at Dean, as if to check what the other man was thinking. "Would you believe I hated that place more than I hated being here?"

"I must have been crazy." Castiel smiled again in that horrible, unhappy way of his. "Because I signed all those damn papers. I wanted to be fixed too. I thought it would be a good thing. I wanted to help with the trial. I really did."

"But I never could remember anything. There were times I thought I was getting worse, instead of better," Castiel cried, "Do you know how frustrating that was?"

Dean brought his hand to the back of Cas' head to caress the nape of his neck. He sat up and kissed his cheek and his lips. Not knowing what else to do, Dean pulled on the sheets that were tangled off to the side and wrapped Castiel up. They remained close and quiet for a while.

"There's more," Castiel broke the silence. "There's so much more."

"Anything good?"

"Your optimism is one of my favorite things about you," Castiel told Dean, half-chuckling.

Dean smiled back, thinking Cas might have been the only person on Earth to consider him an optimist.

Cas did manage to remember one thing that was positive. "Perhaps, yes. One of the conditions of my transfer was that women were not allowed to attend to me. There were already murderers at the asylum… but no one quite like me. I was to be shielded from women at all times, for their own good."

"But there were women there, huh?"

"Yes. The asylum was sex segregated, but the other patients could mingle during certain times of the day. Not me. I was kept in a special wing, all to myself." Cas pulled on the blanket around his body. "But a girl found me. Her name was Muriel."

"Muriel?" Dean thought the name sounded nice. "Was she pretty?"

"I don't know. I never saw her face." Cas furrowed his brow. "She found me by accident one day as she was trying to escape."

"I like this dame's style," Dean remarked, with genuine respect.

"I heard her voice through the vent. I don't know if she was beautiful, but her voice was." Castiel's eyes became distant. "She was kind. She told me she'd been in and out of asylums since she was young for things like hysteria, depression, and, at that time, violence. Muriel wanted to be a police officer. But… it didn't work out so well."

"A _female_ police officer?" Dean laughed and then quickly straightened his face. "Oh, you're serious."

Cas didn't like that Dean laughed at Muriel, but then, he hadn't known female police officers were fairly nonexistent until she had mentioned it to him. "She talked to me like I was an ordinary person," Cas said.

"What happened to her?" Dean asked.

"She found out who I was." Muriel's voice had been pleasant, soothing medicine to his ears, but within a short time, she stopped visiting him. Cas knew she must have figured out who he was. The same nervousness and despair that had filled him when Muriel had vanished filled him now as he looked at Dean. He had said too much.

Dean was uncomfortable. His skin prickled from the night air and he wanted to reach for his clothes, but was afraid Cas would take it the wrong way. Dean needed something to do, so he hastily put on his underwear and reached for his pants. Cas was silent as Dean dressed.

At last, he whispered, "You think I'm crazy too."

Dean didn't respond immediately. He was too caught off guard and didn't really know what he thought. "I'm not going to leave you. I'm just putting on my pants."

That wasn't an adequate answer to acknowledge Castiel's worries. Dean leaned back against the wall, and hung his clothed legs over the bedside. "Listen, Cas," Dean began, "I don't know what crazy is. I'm no doctor."

Castiel was still unhappy, so Dean rambled on with whatever came to his head. "Who says anything in this world is sane? I went to war to kill strangers. I'd never been abroad in my life and when I finally go, it's with a Springfield instead of a camera. Nobody batted an eye about that, but when I think back on it, maybe that wasn't so normal."

"You went through a traumatic thing, buddy. That would mess anyone up, but it's not like you were hearing voices!"

When silent, sorrowful cerulean held his gaze, Dean realized his severe error. " _Oh._ " Dean's eyes widened. He wanted to kick himself. "You did… You heard voices, didn't you?"

Cas' grim silence was unceasing. Now that Dean had signified that hearing voices was his condition for insanity, Cas felt unwilling to admit to it. There was a reason he'd left that detail out of his story.

"You didn't hear the Devil, did you?" Dean questioned, treading waters as carefully as he could. He felt a growing spike of terror as he waited for Castiel's reply. Lacking words, Cas' only response was the shake of his head. "Then who?" Dean asked. "What did they say to you?"

Cas was used to these types of questions from people at the asylum. Like then, he didn't want to answer, but Dean was different. He didn't ask out of any need to fix Cas or study him. In truth, Cas didn't know why Dean was curious. His tongue only loosened because he trusted Dean more than anyone else. "Nothing," Cas muttered. "It was all gibberish. Meaningful gibberish."

Dean cocked his head to the side, confused.

"It sounded like a language. Surely, it must have been. But, it was unlike any I'd ever heard. No language I've studied even compares." Cas paused. Not for the first time, he wondered if it was a language he had invented for himself, just for his own thoughts. "But it was men, women. Sometimes speaking all at once. Depending on the day."

"O-Okay," Dean smoothed his hands over his pants. He never would have expected to hear such a revelation from Cas. The obvious next question burning in his brain spilled forth from his lips. "You don't hear them still… do you?"

"No." Castiel sighed. "Thank God." Always with a gloomy imagination, Castiel had worried the voices had been urging him to commit sins. When the voices had vanished, he had felt an enormous sense of relief. And yet, once a man had admitted to having heard voices, few could consider him to be 'normal' afterwards. He felt Dean regarding him as a different person now, and he was vulnerable for it. Worse than almost anything, Dean had traces of anxiety in his eyes that he couldn't hide from Cas.

"I told you, didn't I? I don't have any good stories."

"Hey, you listen to me, God damn it. Lots of people hear voices!" Dean replied. "And… t-things. Alright? You're not the only one." He wanted to wipe off the look of dejection from Castiel's face with his hands, but this was something that had to be done with words. "I can't say I've ever heard voices… But I damn sure heard bullets."

Castiel's attention peaked and he watched Dean fixedly.

"A guy opens a bottle of pop – suddenly, boom! There it is," Dean said. "The nurse sets down the tray too loud. There it is again! A car backfires. Again! Again, things that aren't what you think they are, sound like things they ain't supposed to be."

Dean didn't think he was making sense. He scratched the back of his head, struggling hard with this topic. Admitting his twitchiness that was a side effect of the war was a thing he had kept to himself. "Just because it's not _real_ , doesn't mean you didn't hear it. I dunno, damn it. The brain is all fucked up."

"But what if it is real?" Castiel replied softly. "What if I've only trained myself not to hear it?"

"Well, Hell," Dean exhaled. "This is way above my pay grade."

Castiel felt useless and unsure of reality like he used to so often many years ago. Until that day, he had never considered it, but now he wondered if Muriel had not also only been a figment of his imagination. He gasped in surprise, and Dean hurried to his side. He had to say something to help Cas. Dean pulled the blankets close over his chest and talked to keep him in the present. "You know what? You know what Charlie told me before you got put away in solitary?"

Cas looked at Dean, trying to focus just on him.

"Charlie told me he's never been attracted to a woman in his entire life. Homosexuality is supposed to be a mental illness, but, if you ask me, Charlie might be the sanest guy around this joint. Whoever is deciding what's crazy and what isn't, might be talking right out of his ass!"

Dean had a point, and yet Castiel wasn't very comforted. He was about to tell Dean he had also never been attracted to women, but Dean broke out into another erratic spiel.

"There are things out there that people say are crazy that really ain't all that bad…. And then there's those things that are 'normal' but they're actually not – only, nobody calls them 'crazy.'" Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I don't know what I'm saying…"

"What I mean is…" Dean frowned. He was trying hard to understand Castiel and relate to the bombshells he'd just heard.

"What, Dean?"

Dean groaned. "Okay. I heard this story about a guy that slipped and hit his head something fierce. Story goes that after that, the guy couldn't remember what he ate for breakfast. He'd forget his street address and people thought he was funny in the head, but boy! Whatever got knocked inside his head turned him into a regular mathematical genius."

Dean eyed Castiel before going on. "Maybe what you've got is something like that. So, you can't remember anything before 1932, but you're quick as a lick about damn near just about everything else. You're a fucking linguist whiz. You've read every book in the library, I know you have! I've never seen a person who could read as fast as you. Your head isn't that same as everyone else's, maybe, but that doesn't mean you're crazy."

"I told you about my dad's scar," Dean took a moment to reminisce about his father. "How he nearly got blown to pieces? That piece of shrapnel that hit him upside the head didn't just leave a scar on his face. It loosened something up in his brain that made his temper worse."

Dean continued, slightly misty-eyed, "But it wasn't his fault, you know? Dad got mad a lot, but Sammy and I learned he couldn't control it… most of the time. He did the best that he could, and damn it, if that's what you do, you're doing a lot better than some people."

Finally, Castiel calmed. Dean had said a lot and revealed much. The fact that he was going through such lengths to soothe him had a positive affect, even if he didn't make total sense. "So… You think I got hit on the head?" Cas asked, slowly.

"I told you I ain't a doctor! Cut me some slack. I didn't even graduate high school."

"I guess it is plausible." Cas tried to feel for a bump on his skull and found none.

Dean swallowed hard and grabbed the planes of Castiel's face. He considered his next words deeply before speaking. "Bottom line: Looking at you… I don't see crazy or not crazy. I just see Cas."

Maybe Cas didn't cry, but Dean could always tell he _felt_. His eyes were continuously speaking to him even when he didn't give in to conventional reactions. Cas was now looking up at him with a measure of wonder and affection that Dean could taste. "It's gonna be alright," Dean told Cas.

"Thank you, Dean." His hand slipped over one of Dean's. His eyelids lowered and he soon felt Dean's mouth to his eyebrow. Remembering the past was stressful, but the present was so sweet.

Dean pulled Castiel into his arms and squeezed him. He planted a soft kiss on his neck. "I like you just the way you are."

Time was ticking to the nightly count. Their internal clocks were wired to recognize they needed to part within seconds. "You have to leave," Castiel said, aware of the time. "Get dressed."

Dean obeyed, pulling on his shirts. He set Castiel's clothing beside him on the bed and then got up to exit the cell. But, he just couldn't go. Dean lingered by the bars and inclined his head back towards Castiel, who was still sitting naked beneath his sheet.

"Good night, Dean."

Instead of bidding him good night, Dean rushed back to Cas and enveloped his lips in a loving kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow," Dean said, before kissing him yet again. "And the day after that. And the day after that."

"Night, Cas." When Dean finally left him, he did so without looking back. If he caught sight of his sensitive blues, he knew he would be tempted to hold him again. He wouldn't want to let him go.

* * *

After hearing the long tale of his trial and of his time at the asylum, Dean worried about Cas more than before. That was something he hadn't thought was possible to do. Dean worried he hadn't done enough to help him. He hadn't known the right things to say, but he hoped Cas believed that he would be there for him no matter what. Dean felt a great sense of despair whenever he imagined how troubled Castiel must have been. He didn't want to think about it, but he was now all the more certain Castiel's crime must have been on another level if it could have such adverse affects on his mental state. Dean was beginning to understand why Castiel didn't talk about it and why Gabriel protected his history so fiercely.

Dean realized the necessity of getting him away from solitary, confined places. Cas would be better in wide open spaces where he wouldn't have to be concerned about who could lock him up or control his every move. Dean craved for Castiel's freedom more than he craved for his own. Yet, he knew there were complications added to their relationship. Though he loved him dearly, he was now even more concerned about the accuracy of Castiel's memories and of his thinking.

Dean had more reason to doubt everything surrounding Cas. _His name, the Bible, his crime_. As far as Dean knew, anything that was not those three things was up for debate. That left a lot of room for uncertainty. Dean hungered for more details about Castiel's trial to be able to help him. He had promised not to ask Cas about his crime until they were free, but that didn't mean he would stop asking other people. The fact that Cas was so convinced he'd done something he couldn't remember doing, motivated Dean to reach out to a third party.

During rec time the following day, Dean stole away into his cell to write to Bobby. He wrote him a mundane letter, telling Bobby he was doing well. He asked him the usual questions about Bobby's wellbeing, Ben, and Sam. But, using every tenth letter, Dean penned short, cryptic messages to his old friend within the text. He told Bobby to 'expect two rabbits,' and inscribed, 'read and report 2432 Trib' within the letter.

Bobby had an eye for hidden messages and Dean had a talent for obscuring them from people he wished to not notice them. Dean's father had many flaws, but he'd taught Dean the art of secret messages to aide in their illegal affairs. Thanks to his father, Dean knew WWI code and other methods of conveying messages discreetly. Those skills had helped keep his family alive, so Dean loved John for that. No matter the mistakes he had made, his father had taught him how to survive.

Bobby would know how to read the date and the source to which Dean was referring because his background was similar to John's and he knew Dean's usual writing style. All that was required to trip Bobby off was a spelling error here and there along with slightly stiff content. Dean expected the man would convey a similar message back to him, detailing what Castiel had done. He felt a little dirty going behind Castiel's back to get information on him, but he had never specified that option was off the table.

" _Buenas tardes!_ " Gabriel sang to Dean as he passed him on the way to the yard after having mailed his letter. Dean stopped walking and Gabe halted as well, noting something was different about him.

"I know about Blackwater," Dean told Gabriel. The shorter male was stunned for a few moments. He examined Dean, noting the seriousness he embodied.

"He told you?" When Dean nodded, Gabriel pressed. "How much?"

"A lot. Muriel, the voices, the therapy, Noam. The trial."

"Even the trial?" Gabriel's eyes widened. He was relieved, but unsure as to why Dean was telling him what Castiel had revealed to him. He half expected Dean would next tell him that Castiel had revealed his crime as well, but when Dean remained silent, Gabriel realized he still didn't know. Gabriel kicked the dust below and cast his eyes to the side. He knew it must have been difficult for Cas to admit everything he had. "He's much better now."

Yet again, Dean felt something akin to jealousy towards Gabriel. There seemed to be nothing Castiel could tell him that Gabriel did not already know. In this instance, that fact worked to his advantage. "There was one thing he never did say."

"What's that?"

"How did he get transferred back?" Dean asked.

Gabriel mulled over whether that was information Cas would want shared, and soon decided it was safe. "It didn't take long for him to start beggin' to get out of that joint, but it was too late for him to change his mind. He'd signed all the paperwork to stay there for a long, long while. What busted him out of that place was that the funds dried up."

Dean frowned.

"Keepin' a fella to a wing all by himself, spending all that dough on meds and new treatments... Well, that broke the bank a hell of a lot quicker than expected." Now, Gabriel was curious. Dean was learning of all the darkness and pain that was a part of Cas. "So, what'd you think? About all of it?"

"What I think is I won't let him stay here another minute if I can help it. And I could use you."

Gabriel didn't respond as positively as Dean had hoped he would. "I'm late for a guitar lesson. Eyes and ears on the walls, Dean."

Gabriel vanished so quickly Dean didn't have time to decide if Gabriel was in on what he was proposing or not. Charlie, on the other hand, was a godsend. Dean made sure to catch him in a discreet, concealed location.

"You're gonna bust out with Cas? I love this idea!" The redhead beamed. "What can I do? Tell me and I'll do it!"

"You can start with blueprints. You have access to those, right?"

"Absolutely!"

"What kind of locks can you pick?"

"What kind of locks can I pick, he asks!" Charlie snickered, already overjoyed with excitement. "The kinds with _keys_. Show me what you need and I can figure it out."

"Good. Good. You're a real pal." Dean slapped his hand over Charlie's shoulder, but his smile began to fade the longer he looked at him. "You could come too."

He could make it three rabbits instead of two. Perhaps four, if Gabriel was in. Charlie shook his head and declined. "Thanks, Dean. Really. But, I've got my own plan."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!" He swung his arms casually and grinned. "You know I've only got three years. One year down, and I've got plans to make the rest quick. Besides, you could use a legit friend on the outside once you make it. I'm going on the 'straight and narrow.'"

They both burst into laughs. There was nothing, nor would there ever be, anything 'straight and narrow' about Charlie. Dean was energized by Charlie's confidence, but it was bittersweet. "It's going to be hard leaving you behind. Are you going to be alright?"

"Of course!" Charlie threw a friendly punch at Dean's arm. "Don't worry about me."

Then, Dean did something he hadn't expected he would do that day. He pulled Charlie into a warm hug. Naturally, Charlie returned the embrace. He knew he would be fine. Charlie had always been able to take care of himself, but when he thought of not seeing Dean around in his daily life anymore, he was struck by emotion. He wanted Dean to be happy, but things wouldn't be the same without him. "I love you, Dean."

Dean was still, but then shook his head, chuckling again. "I know."

"Do you think you can remember a few coordinates?" Charlie asked Dean after they'd parted.

His question puzzled Dean. "Why?"

"Because if you can, I can make you and Cas rich men."

Dean's lips curved up happily. "Oh, believe you me, I've got a good memory."

* * *

Things were going to turn around. They weren't going to have to answer to anyone before long. Dean was organizing his plans with everyone he thought could be an asset. From where he stood, Dean began to believe all his friends had become his friends for a reason. He hated the idea of destiny, but he felt sure that he and Cas would escape. He could taste it and he could sense the light at the end of the tunnel. For once, he wasn't expecting the other shoe to drop. Escape was theirs to be had if only they were willing to grasp it.

Willingness was something Dean had to make sure was in Castiel's possession. After his rendezvous with Gabriel and Charlie, Dean sought Cas out. He was sitting on the bleachers in the yard, idly listening to Gabriel's distant strumming and peaking out over the walls as far as he could. Dean was pleased because he imagined Cas was also dreaming about being on the outside.

When Castiel noticed Dean beside him, he appeared self-conscious. "About last night…"

"You don't worry about a fucking thing," Dean replied. He leaned into Castiel's space and tossed him a smile that spoke volumes. "I'm glad you told me. It doesn't change a thing."

"I find that hard to believe," Castiel fidgeted. "But I believe you."

They shared a meaningful exchange of looks and Dean almost gave into his urges to cover Castiel's lovely lips with his own. He hated the public nature of their lives. Cas produced a cigarette, and Dean promptly revealed his golden lighter. Cigarette lit, Cas sucked away, nervous and yet comfortable.

"You make me feel like a different man," Cas told Dean. A shy splattering of redness covered his cheeks. Lately, it seemed like he was admitting all manner of things to Dean he'd never expected he would. Whatever had happened in the night had left him feeling reborn and in control. Baring all and facing the consequences was terrifying, but Dean made it seem right. "If I can keep a handle on whatever it is I have with anyone… it's with you."

Cas, brooding and beautiful, had placed his trust in Dean and Dean would never forget it. The Winchester wasn't sure how to respond to such vulnerability and sincerity, except with a joke. Dean nudged Cas with his elbow. "Okay, Humphrey Bogart."

Castiel blinked. "Who?"

"You know! The fella from _Casablanca_."

"…The White House?"

"Ah – Nevermind!" Dean groaned. "Hey. Don't be greedy. Why don't you pass that cig?" Dean's hand passed by Castiel's in such a way that their faces were temporarily concealed as he stole a kiss from Cas on the bleachers. The sun behind them obscured their faces from the other men in the yard as they locked lips. Before long, Dean drew from the cigarette, but he was far more interested in quietly worshipping the brunette before him.

It was past dinner and the library was closed when their lips met for the next time that day in their beloved storage room. Dean didn't care to breathe as much as he cared to taste Castiel's mouth with his own. Cas thrust his hardness between Dean's legs as he gripped him firmly on top of the table they had so often cleaned with the flesh of their bodies.

Dean had flashbacks to the first time they had ever found themselves in this position in the library. He still felt the same excitement coursing through his veins as their tongues caressed and as Castiel's hands stroked their lengths in a passionate rhythm. Cas drank Dean's soft moans as the Winchester clawed into his prison uniform. His nails dug over the 26435 fixed on the patch over Castiel's chest. Soon, Cas would never be a number to anyone ever again.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's obsession with escaping prison intensifies. The prison staff begins to behave unusually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy smokes. Omgomgomg, I'm so excited I'm finally posting. I cannot even begin to tell you all the stuff that's kept me so busy for so long. I've always said I won't give up on this story. I really don't want to, but I might not be able to finish. I'm going to do my best! There aren't actually that many chapters left. I'll understand if you can't handle my times away. BUT OMG, I totally know what I want to write and what's going to happen. Thank you so much for sticking around this long! And for anyone new that's reading. I know it's horrible to follow this story for so many reasons. I won't give up!

* * *

Dean no longer spent any of his free time in the yard. He was consumed with his mission to find a way out. Instead of the guitar, exercise, or chess with Cas, Dean hid himself in a rarely used utility closet that he sealed away from the rest of the prison with a well-placed chair. He studied the blueprints given to him by Charlie until he had them nearly memorized. He looked at the papers like they were bursting with life. Dean could see the guards on their rounds, traveling across the blueprints like single-minded ants.

He was so focused on his task that he almost didn't hear the raps at the door. Dean didn't pay much attention to the noise until he heard Castiel's gentle voice. "Dean, may I come in?"

The Winchester parted from the table only for a brief moment to let Cas in and then he resumed the absorbed state in which he had been. Castiel took in the scene, waiting for Dean to explain, but he said nothing apart from a grunt of a greeting. Cas entered Dean's personal space near the table and still received no details from Dean – barely even a glance.

Cas placed his hand beside the Winchester's to peer down at the blueprints over his shoulder. The blue-eyed man was near enough to just about rest against Dean's side. "Do we have a plan?" Cas asked, sweetly and yet sarcastically, "Or are we just admiring the fine engineering of our humble abode?"

Dean's mouth twitched with mirth and a touch of annoyance. He couldn't be too irritated with Cas so close. "I'm working on it," Dean promised.

Castiel's hand that was not pressed to the table slid over Dean's hip and he leaned flush against his lover. "Tell me about it."

"W-Well, it's not – it's not ready yet!" Dean grumbled, his face burning with the embarrassment of not having yet concocted a solid plan. "I thought about digging through my cell or blowing it to pieces somehow, but I'd just end up in this fucker's cell! Or even worse… _that_ fucker. This wall here is thick as a sonuvabitch. It'd take at least a year to get through. Your cell's the same. Quickest way out is picking the locks."

"That sounds dangerous." Castiel blinked. He imagined them tiptoeing in the night and was certain some inmate would try to throw a wrench into their plans if they were seen. "Would you do yours first and then come to me?"

"Unless you think you could handle your own…"

"I've never picked a lock in my life."

Dean glanced up at Cas with a look of surprise. "Really?"

"Really. Why? Do I look like I'd have that skill?"

"Babe, I expect you to know how to do everything. Didn't you read about picking locks somewhere?" With faux disappointment, Dean teased, "Guess you're not as impressive as I thought. Don't worry, I'll get you."

Castiel didn't bother pretending to be offended for an instant. He slipped into Dean's arms and kissed him instead. Whether or not they escaped, he already felt like Dean was his hero. Dean's mind shifted completely to the other man. He leaned into his kisses happily, unaware of how much Castiel wanted to fuck him over the table, on top of those blueprints.

"Damn it, Cas."

"What?" Castiel asked, lips gliding gently against Dean's.

"I can't concentrate with you – you so close. Go stand over there." Dean waved his hand to the other side of the table.

"But I want to study the blueprints with you, and I can't read upside-down." Castiel lied through his teeth and then tempted Dean with the tip of his tongue.

" _Cas_."

 _Okay, fine._ Castiel groaned and separated from Dean, finding a spot on the opposite side of the table. This closet wasn't half as fun as the others they'd been in, but he respected Dean's wishes. The seriousness of Dean's gaze sobered Castiel a bit. "When did you ever learn to pick locks?" Cas asked.

"A long fucking time ago," Dean answered briskly. In all honesty, he had to think about it for a while. "Me and Sammy were kids. I learned because I had to."

Castiel's interest heightened. Every story Dean told him about his childhood with Sam was inherently fascinating to him. "Dad was supposed to pick us up before the sun went down," Dean said. "He told us to play in the park and that his business would be over in no time."

"And by 'park,' I do mean a fucking open field with an old tire in it."

"Of course." Cas nodded. "You can't have a park without tires."

"And so it started to rain," Dean grinned. "Turns out the tire made for a horrible umbrella. And then it started to get dark. And darker."

"I had to do something. Sammy was crying. And he wouldn't stop. So, I carried him in the direction Dad had gone, thinking we'd see him coming back to us at any minute." Dean paused. _Any minute now, Sammy._ He'd told Sam the same thing dozens of times, but Sam never did stop crying. Dean could still remember the intense chill of the rain and the discomfort of being unable to wipe his face because he was holding his little brother. "All we found was a barn," Dean went on, "But guess what?"

"It was locked," Castiel filled in the blank.

"You bet your ass it was. It took me about an hour to bust it open, using a fishhook." Dean thought back on that moment and realized how lucky they had been to have spotted that hook in the downpour. "I was eight."

Castiel made a sound of thoughtful admiration. "Now I really do feel unimpressive."

"Ah, it's nothing. All you need is a little finesse and a lot of desperation."

"Did your father come back?"

"Yeah. He always did, eventually. _Usually_. It took him a while, but he made it," Dean replied. Though John had still been a little bit tipsy, the worry that had been on his face had been the overwhelming trait of his entire demeanor the moment he had torn the barn door open, looking for his sons. Sam had cried himself into an exhausted sleep and Dean, quivering and wet, had been sitting up with one eye fighting to stay open. Like so many others, that story was old news.

"I can teach you how to pick locks," Dean offered.

Castiel was beginning to say that would be nice when there was another knock at the door. This knock was distinctive. Dean knew it belonged to Charlie without having to hear his voice. He inclined his head slightly to Cas and Castiel moved to open the door for their guest.

"Hey guys!" Charlie smiled because there was almost nothing he enjoyed more than being on a secret mission. The other men said their hellos and Charlie approached the table.

Castiel regarded the redhead with a contented expression. "Dean tells me you know of a buried treasure."

"It's not _really_ a treasure. There's no jewels or pirate medallions. If only!" Charlie placed his hands on his hips and looked sheepishly around the room. "Most of it's Dick's money. I was giving bits of it back to the people he'd swindled it from… but I also kept a little. Maybe more than I should have. So if you can count a box of _loads of cash_ as a treasure, then maybe, yes. It's a treasure. Wow, that does sound like treasure, now that I mention it."

Cas tilted his head and Dean raised his brows.

"Where is it?" Cas asked since Dean had refused to tell him. The Winchester was mum on the subject because he didn't trust easy money, even if it came from a good friend. He would believe it when it was in his pocket.

"You'll see. When Dean takes you there," Charlie grinned and Cas shrugged. When it came to secrets, Castiel was the least qualified person to be judgmental. "Anyhow, before I forget…"

Charlie dropped a heavy bag on the table and it made a substantial sound. Dean pried the bag open and gasped with joy when he pulled out a cell lock. "How did you get this?"

"I told them one of the cell locks was acting up," Charlie sniggered. "And it was. I broke it. Whoops."

Cas took the chunky piece of metal from Dean, amazed by the sight of a lock without its cell. It was surreal to hold in his hands. He peered into its mechanics, wearing a slight frown.

"We can work on picking it open until we can do it in our sleep," Charlie told Dean.

" _Yes_ ," Dean beamed. This was exactly what he needed.

"Cas, did you want to learn too?" Charlie asked.

Cas set the lock on the table, shaking his head. Now that Charlie was offering, he wasn't as attracted to the idea of a lesson. "I don't think I have the dexterity for it."

"You know how he is," Dean said, "Cas is more of a 'smash and grab' kind of guy."

"Suit yourself!" Charlie replied and then leaned over the blueprints to ask what he'd been wondering ever since Dean had solicited his help. "Soooo…. What's the plan after you pick the locks?"

Dean had many plans, most of which had slim probabilities of success, but high odds of death. "Well," Dean averted his eyes. "There's the supply trucks."

"Inside or under?" Charlie asked.

"Whichever works best."

"Hmm," Charlie rubbed his chin. "I'd say under. That way you can drop off somewhere without being seen."

"That's what I was thinking."

"But they check under the vehicles that come in and out," Cas reminded the two. Dean had already thought of that and waved his hand to Cas in a gesture of begrudging agreement.

"Not every time," Dean responded. "Just… most of the time. We can find a way around that! We'll create a diversion. Something! Alright, nothing I've got in mind is too full-proof, but something's gonna have to do. We can't stay here."

Cas settled a worried look upon Dean. He was dying to tell Dean to stop. He was afraid of what Dean would get into on his behalf. Yet, Cas knew there was nothing he could say that would change Dean's mind. Dean had made that very clear.

Dean studied the plans again, his eyes lingering on the only pipes that lead far away from the complex. _Sewage_. Not for the first time that day, he read the white type of that normally unattractive word. Charlie and Cas, following his gaze, stiffened when they plucked the thoughts from Dean's brain. Dean wondered if it was possible for a man to fit within those dark, putrid corridors. Charlie was the first to comment.

"I would go with the trucks if I were you fellas."

"Trucks indeed. The best plan we have so far," Cas agreed quickly. Certainly, he would follow Dean anywhere, but not without putting in his two cents first.

* * *

_Now, I don't care what the weatherman says_

_When the weatherman says it's raining_

Not long after his meeting with Cas and Charlie, Dean ran into Gabriel as he was meandering the halls in the vague direction of the yard. From behind, he watched Gabe mop while singing and dancing to _Jeepers Creepers_. The sound of his voice echoing in the halls was always comforting to the Winchester. Dean walked slower and quieter just to listen.

_You'll never hear me complaining, I'm certain the sun will shine_

_I don't care how the weather vane points_

_When the weather vane points to_ _**gloomy** _

_It's gotta be sunny to me, when your eyes look into mine_

Gabriel's dance partner, the mop, and his hop of a dance combined with the overly jaunty tenor of his voice made his version of the tune far more goofy than Louis Armstrong likely intended it to be. For once, the lean man made an honest attempt at imitating another singer as his hips swayed to the music of his imagination. Dean wondered if Gabriel always had an audience in his head for him to be constantly in the mood to perform. Watching him, Dean could see how a girl could fall for the short, maddening male. Gabriel threw joy off his body like confetti at a parade.

" _Oh_ , _Jeepers Creepers, where'd ya get those peepers?_ " Gabriel sang into the mop handle and wiggled his shoulders. When he noticed Dean stepping up beside him, he just about fell over, but it wasn't out of shame. His golden eyes twinkled when he saw Dean and he sang again, " _Jeepers Creepers, where'd ya get those eyes?_ "

Dean was partly laughing and partly groaning as Gabriel mopped in his direction, trying to catch his shoes. " _Oh_ , _gosh all git up, how'd they get so lit up?_ "

"Gabe, knock it off!" Dean complained, his face morphing back and forth between delight and fury.

" _Gosh all git up, how'd they get that_ _ **size**_ _?_ "

"It's not funny!" Dean growled when Gabriel at last succeeded in covering his toes in soapy water. Gabe only stopped singing to laugh at Dean's frustration. "G'dammit!"

" _Oh, golly gee!_ Okay, princess eyes," Gabriel removed the mop from Dean's vicinity and waved a courteous hand, "On your way, madam."

"Ain't no madam," Dean mumbled, adjusting his shirt with resentment. He twitched, full of suspicion, as he began to inch towards his intended path. Gabriel's hand jerked momentarily, stopping Dean.

"What? I'm not going to do anything," Gabriel smiled. "Go on." For once, he wasn't lying. Dean pressed on tenuously only to slip and fall on his ass.

"Son of a bitch!"

"I polished that side already. You should have read the sign," Gabriel smirked his aggravating smirk and pointed in the direction of the 'wet floor' sign that was nowhere near the wet spot that had brought Dean to his knees.

"Who mops like this?" Dean raged. He looked around the hall. Both sides were wet. "Aren't you supposed to start at one end and go in one direction?"

"This is my second coat," Gabriel announced proudly.

"None of these floors need to be that clean," Dean huffed, pulling himself up. He blinked upon seeing the strangeness of Gabriel's youthful face. Something was different. "Did you shave?"

"I shaved this morning," Gabriel answered, looking hurt that Dean was only noticing now.

Dean had gotten so used to the beard that Gabriel now looked baby-faced without it. He muttered, "I thought your beard was 'holding the universe together.'"

"That was last month. This month, I've gotta be clean. Clean and smooth." Gabriel swiped back his hair in a cool gesture. He'd gotten a haircut too. Gabriel looked oddly nice, like he was one tailored suit away from belonging on stage.

"Are you up to something?" Dean asked.

"Not anymore than usual," Gabriel shrugged. Gabriel was consistently unusual, so Dean didn't contemplate his makeover much. The reflective quiet that filled the air was penetrated by Dean's mildly pleading voice, as he returned to the only thing that truly mattered to him at the moment.

"Did you think about what I asked you the other day?"

"What thing?" Gabriel pursed his lips in his best attempt to look stupid. The seriousness that had begun to fill Dean's face completely turned him off.

"Only the most important thing I could ask you." Dean's mouth was tight as he regarded Gabriel. Dean wasn't in the habit of asking Gabe for favors because he didn't like his price tags, but this was different because this was about Cas.

Gabriel yawned a long, drawn out yawn that managed to piss Dean off anew.

"I don't get it," Dean grumbled softly, "It's like you don't care. This is a win-win situation. You love Cas and I – I… I want better for him – "

Slowly, Gabriel approached Dean. Though he was still wearing a slight grin, it was clear he was uncomfortable and a little angry. His brows were arched as he spoke in a hushed voice, "Is there something you don't understand about hallways? And about how they carry sound?"

Affronted, Dean seethed, "Do I give a damn?"

"You probably should." The mop handle got annoyingly close to Dean's face and Dean swatted at it with pent up frustration. There wasn't a soul on either side of the hall and all was still when the two men weren't talking.

"Alright…" Dean surrendered, "Then where do you wanna talk about this?"

"Oh! How about the love shack?" Gabriel perked up suddenly. "You never invite me there!"

"Wait. The what? You mean the storage – "

"Dean, there's only _one_ love shack."

"Okay, fine."

"Seven thirty!" Gabriel winked. "It's a date."

Dean nodded with reluctance and gingerly stepped down the rest of the hall to the sound of Gabe resuming his sprightly song. Once he reached the afternoon light, Dean cast his gaze back to see Gabriel fully absorbed in his own little world of happiness. There was a phantom band of trumpets, horns, flutes, and drums in that hall with Gabe that Dean wished he could see too.

* * *

Gabriel never showed to their agreed upon meeting place and was conveniently occupied for the rest of the evening with anyone that would give him the time. He was gabbing and idling like the most carefree nitwit to ever step foot into the penitentiary. His mood was the exact opposite of the mood Dean found himself in after waiting for Gabriel for over thirty minutes in a closet alone.

The door creaked open and Cas peeked his head into the small room. He was shocked to see Dean there. For once, Cas was using the closet for its intended purpose. He set a broom and a broken chair by the door and gave Dean a confused stare. Dean wasn't normally so furious in this particular closet.

"He stood me up!" Dean smacked the nearby shelves and a cloud of dust flew in his direction. Castiel fidgeted and looked wounded for a moment.

"Who?"

"Who else but fucking Cruz!" Dean hissed. He was so mad he couldn't verbalize Gabriel's first name.

"Oh, thank God," Castiel breathed. "I thought that you… n-nevermind."

"I what?" Dean asked.

"Nothing!" Cas cleared his throat. "What were you meeting him about?"

"It doesn't matter." Dean paced, thinking hard about what this all meant. "He's not going to help. He's being a regular ass."

"He does that on occasion." Cas paused, "Do you want me to talk to him?"

"No! _I'll_ talk to him."

The door behind Cas softly shut itself to give them privacy and Cas contemplated how to best soothe Dean. He stepped beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sure he'll come around," Cas said. There weren't many things Dean could have wanted to speak to Gabriel about, so it was easy for Cas to correctly guess his motive for their secret meeting. "He thrives on pushing buttons, you know that."

"Yes, but … but not about this."

Cas settled his body against the table and looked at Dean. He wished, yet again, that Dean wouldn't try so hard. At times, it was exhausting just to watch him. "You should get some rest," Castiel suggested. "You haven't been sleeping well lately."

"It's not even nine."

"A person can rest at any hour," Cas rebutted. They went on, bantering and arguing until Cas coerced Dean into his cell. Once they were sitting together, Cas ran his fingers across Dean's arm. He began kneading relaxing circles into his skin, pleased by every bit of crankiness that melted off Dean from his actions.

"What are you doing?" Dean complained, because sometimes he was stubborn about even the nicest gestures.

"It doesn't feel good?" Cas furrowed his brows. He'd read that the appendages had multiple pressure points that could be manipulated to provoke considerable relief. Massaging one of Dean's rough hands beneath his fingers, Cas brought a soft, unintended moan from the other man's lips.

Dean swallowed, "It's alright."

"'Alright' doesn't sound too pleasurable," Cas' bright blue eyes were cheerfully fixed on Dean as his fingers slowed deliberately.

"Ah, no. No! It's good," Dean equivocated and sighed. "Don't stop."

Dean drew his face near Castiel's and his eyelids began to lower as Cas once again put his energy into rubbing his stress away. There was nothing like Cas' touch or the feel of his mouth. Cas started gently, nudging Dean's face with only his nose and cheek. When his lips touched Dean's skin they felt like calm clouds. Castiel's trail of sweet kisses and the tender rolls of his fingers all over Dean's hand and arm seduced Dean completely.

Naturally, their affectionate contact built up with each kiss until Cas let go of Dean's hand in favor of pushing him down onto the bed. He covered his mouth with determined kisses, casually sliding his hips between Dean's thighs. Dean responded to Cas like he had been waiting for this moment all day.

"I'm still mad," Dean muttered to Castiel's lips.

"Be mad," Cas replied, thinking for just a moment before adding, "Be mad at anyone but me."

Dean smiled up at Cas and closed the space between their mouths again. Cas was so possessive and yet so loving that Dean burned with arousal easily beneath him. Cas licked the lips that let out shallow, excited breaths. He squeezed his eyes shut as he let his hips roll slowly against Dean's. Dean craved more and more contact with each slide of Castiel's hard length against his erection. Castiel's vigorous kisses diffused every thought in Dean's brain except the idea that they had far too much clothing between them. Dean pawed over Castiel's waist, letting his thumbs graze muscles that distracted him from the zipper of Cas' pants. "Cas…" Dean breathed, "Fuck me."

 _On it._ Cas sighed, moving with urgency to heed the superfluous command.

Dean wanted to bury his face into Castiel's abs and chest. He pushed Castiel's uniform away with his cheek and licked the contours of the body he still found otherworldly. His fingertips caressed the length of Cas' shaft for no more than a couple of seconds before –

BANG BANG BANG

_CLANG_

"Like there ain't enough faggotry in the showers!"

Dean jumped and stared, frazzled, at the guard standing at the cell door. The disheveled Winchester was so stunned he didn't have words. In an unusual state of lust and indignation, Cas was also at a loss for how to respond to the sudden intruder. The name _Karns_ was stitched upon the uniform of a male that seemed eager to use his nightstick for more than hitting bars.

"Break it up!" Karns bellowed. "It's time for the count." Then, he dragged his nightstick across the bars like a cruel child would do to a captive animal – with a hint of a wicked smile on his face.

"The count isn't for another hour," Castiel informed the man. Dean's eyes shifted from the guard to Cas. Castiel had the same darkly murderous look in his blues that he'd had each time Dean had been threatened by an inmate.

"You think you know better than me?" Karns asked. The guard confronting the pair was blonde and poorly shaven. Though he had a prosthetic hand, he was strongly built and unafraid of Castiel. "Do you run this place? Do you?"

Dean had been humiliated and terrified countless times in prison, but this was the first time he could recall being so publicly and _loudly_ embarrassed by a guard.

"Let me tell you somethin'," the guard toyed with his nightstick in an aggressive, anxious fashion. "Maybe you love his hole, but there's only one hole you're gonna see tonight if you don't git your sorry behind up out of this cell right now! Up, up!"

It wasn't time for the count and everyone listening knew that. Cas was close to doing something truly violent, but he reconsidered before the prison staff had anymore motive to toss him into the solitary again. Cas had promised Dean he would stay out of solitary, so he broke their contact and walked back to his cell with his brutal instincts barely contained.

When Dean saw the one handed guard approaching his cell yet again after escorting Castiel away, he was in disbelief. _What now?_

"You're welcome," Karns told Dean. If only he had left it at that, Dean would have been sufficiently furious for days, but the guard insisted on talking more, "You may think whoring yourself out will git you somewhere in this life, but it'll only land you straight into the fiery pit of Hell. Good night, inmate."

Karns tipped his hat and made his way down the hall, whistling.

 _What just happened?_ Dean wondered. Had they just been put in time-out like children? Too little, too late, Dean poked his head out of his cell and yelled, "Go fuck yourself!" Dean didn't know if the guard could hear, but he went on with ineffective insults. "You – you can't even read time! Dumbass! Inbred piece of shit!"

He was going to run after Karns to shove his nightstick right up his ass, but his neighbor's snickering stopped him. When Dean heard something about a 'whore' muttered, he lost it and turned to punch Jerkoff in the mouth. The brawl that ensued was feisty, but brief. Andréal came running to break up the fight, while Dean complained, "Let me go! I didn't do anything!"

Blood was all over the floor and all over Dean's hands.

"Whoa, whoa! Dean, stop! Calm down!" Andréal begged, finally pulling Dean off his neighbor with effort. Dean stopped, but his veins still coursed with hatred. When Andréal lowered his guard for an instant, Dean launched himself at the convict again because he was disappointed his neighbor continued to have teeth.

Both Dean and Jerkoff got locked up for the night early. When the lights finally went out, Dean didn't sleep for hours because he was too busy muttering vicious threats to the bloodied prisoner in the cell beside him. Dean woke up the next morning just as angry as he had been when his eyelids had finally succumbed to a dream world of loathing.

Plans of escape forgotten for the morning and the afternoon, Dean presented Gabriel with a mysterious container the moment he could find time alone with him. "I don't care how you do it or what it costs. Find a way to put this in Karns' coffee."

Gabriel lifted a brow and made a face as he smelled what was in the cup. "Oh! UGH!" he gagged. Then, a wild grin spread across his features. Gabriel wasn't often tempted to do things for free, but a quick scan of Dean's worn-with-wrath face prompted him to offer Dean a bargain.

"I will do this thing for you," Gabriel promised. "And this is my price… I want to hear the story of how Dean Winchester came to the point of wanting to have another man ingest his piss."

"It's not just piss," Dean responded.

* * *

Dean had approached Gabriel only because he hadn't been able to afford the grand Death wanted for a legitimate hit. It turned out all for best because Gabriel, Castiel, and Dean were again bonding over a joined effort that would have to make due for their version of a happy memory. They pretended to be interested in Checkers in the yard, but when they all saw Karns choking on his coffee, satisfaction fluttered across their faces. Castiel nearly laughed. Karns would be ill for the next week.

"I'm tellin' ya fellas. There's a special circle in Hell just for people that get in the way of a good fuck," Gabriel commented.

Dean gave Gabriel a tired smile. "Amen."

Gabe glowed with a glee that Cas thought was a little excessive even for Gabriel – like there was nothing greater in the universe than playing Checkers together while exacting petty revenge. His delighted face moved Cas to grab him by one arm into a fierce hug. "My brother, you are all the great things I can never be."

"Oh, stop!" Gabriel chuckled. "No, don't stop. What are you doing? Tell me more."

Castiel was in such a nice mood that he spoon-fed Gabriel his renditions of sweet compliments. "You're practical and creative."

"Really?" Gabriel's mouth hung open with happiness. _What else?_

"And talented… musically," Castiel added with a sincere nod that caused Gabriel to melt into a puddle of love. "That's a given."

"I'm gonna puke," Dean said as he moved a game piece.

Cas went on in a serious tone, "There is no one more successful at procuring lubricant than you."

"Yeah, you're _alright_ … sometimes," Dean snickered at last, mainly because Gabriel was abuzz with elation and his chuckles were infectious. Cas' compliments, delivered in such a deadpan tone, spawned an entirely new love for him in Dean's heart.

"Physically… Your eyes are a unique color," Cas commented, "Pleasantly unique."

"Okay, okay!" Gabriel reeled. Even he had limits when it came to compliments. Each one of Castiel's compliments was worth at least ten compliments from another person. "Stop. I can't take anymore."

"I like your new haircut," Cas said, finally, and Gabriel buried his face into the crook of his arm. For a long while, Gabriel beamed quietly. Dean was worried he would weep with bliss.

"King me, you goof," Dean commanded to Gabriel. "And pay attention. I'm killing you here."

With a greater measure of peace, Dean walked to his cell that afternoon holding a new letter that had arrived that day. He was pleased to see his neighbor cower away from him when he saw Dean approach. Torturing the bastard more would have made Dean even happier, but he was too occupied with urgent affairs to bother. Any word from the outside was important, but this particular letter was especially so because Bobby had responded to his secret request.

Dean tore the letter open as soon as he got inside his cell. Using the same clandestine method Dean had used, Bobby replied that he had been unable to find the newspaper article Dean had requested. _Oh._ Dean sighed, his shoulders drooping. He was dissatisfied, but not altogether surprised. Their town was far too small to have adequate reference resources. He thumbed over the paper, admiring the writing of his friend before catching another coded message

> _I'll keep looking._

Dean grinned silently because he knew sooner or later Bobby could find almost anything he wanted. Within the innocent surface text written to fool the guards, Dean read Bobby's worry and loyalty overlapping each other like invisible strokes of paint. Dean didn't have any further secret messages for his ally, so he wrote him a sincerely friendly letter instead.

The next time Dean ran into Cas it was in the library and the man was looking at him with anxious expectation. Cas had a way of making nervousness look attractive that was befuddling to Dean. "What?" Dean asked. "What's with the eyes?"

"Any news from Sam?" Cas asked in response, lighting a cigarette. "You got a letter, didn't you?"

"Ahhh… no." Dean's soft smile faded. "Wasn't Sam. Bobby wrote."

"Did Bobby write about Sam?" Cas questioned, blowing light curls of smoke into the air. Dean's answer was to slump down into a chair with his eyes cast to the floor. Cas rubbed an eyebrow with his thumb and sighed, "Sorry."

He desperately wanted something good to happen to Dean. Cas wanted the boy that Dean had once sheltered from the rain to have true shelter again.

"Ain't your fault. Let's not… I don't wanna talk about it." Dean bent over the library desk and grabbed the first book in front of him that his fingers touched. _The Great Gatsby_. He made a face and chucked it to the floor with a huff. "Fuck that book!"

Cas hesitated before picking up the novel – another causality of Dean's angst. _Poor Fitzgerald._ Cas sat on the table, shielding Gatsby from Dean. He offered the cig in his hand to his partner. "Smoke?" Dean reached for it, but Cas drew his hand back. "You have to promise you're not going to throw it across the room."

"Ha. Ha." Dean wove his fingers around the stick and took a consciously seductive pull from it. The taste of cigarettes never failed to remind him of the taste of Cas. Staring down at the smoke, Dean frowned, "Did you just use this on me like a pacifier?"

Cas' handsome expression was still and smug. "That depends. Did it work?"

"Your face works…" The Winchester rebutted in a mutter. Dean didn't intend for that statement to come out sounding as stupid as it did. Dean was too drained and too ornery to make sense.

"Save some for me," Cas said, letting his miracle of a face get closer and closer to Dean's. Cas gave him a drawn-out kiss before taking the smoke back. Then, he got up, fully intending to work at the main desk. Dean's legs fidgeted under the table and he quickly got up to hone in on Cas. For the second time that day, he abused a book. The library logbook fell to the floor as he settled hot kisses on Castiel's nicotine flavored lips.

Cas held Dean tight, impatient to resume what they had begun the night before. Dean was already fondling him over his pants. Ashes flew on top of potentially flammable surfaces, but Castiel was more concerned about being caught in the act again. "Dean – Dean – " Cas gasped. "T-The storage room – "

In lieu of words, Dean responded by running his hands down Castiel's body as he sunk to his knees. Guards didn't favor visits to the library and it was almost closing time. More importantly, _it was the principle of the thing._ Cas inhaled sharply as Dean's tongue left proud, passionate strokes up and down his cock. While Dean sucked and stroked him into a rosy paradise, paper crumpled beneath Castiel's grip. "You're so good," Cas sighed in a barely audible sigh.

For a while, Dean was perfectly focused on Cas' stiff erection between his lips. He parted from the adored heat of Cas only to command the other man to sit in a brief grunt. The cigarette sizzled on the desk as Cas disappeared from view. They met eyes and Cas' heart thudded upon seeing the predatory look Dean had. Dean dove back down on Cas with a pleased moan. His hands were as eager as his mouth, groping all over hips and ass. Impatient fingers soothed Castiel's sensitive skin.

When Dean's gaze flickered up for a fraction of a second Cas' hands scrambled for the tube of lube. He handed it to Dean in silent endorsement for the other man to fingerfuck him to his heart's content. With enthusiasm, his slick digits roused Castiel further. The blue-eyed male was clawing at Dean's shoulder when he begged, "Fuck me." He hadn't given Dean any time to act, before breathing out, " _Hurry_."

Dean was ready so fast he didn't remember undoing his pants. He thrust into Cas with gentle curses. Dean's lips met Castiel's collarbone with soft nonsense as he buried himself into Cas lovingly. They were far from being in a comfortable location, but the relief of joining bodies again made that detail seem irrelevant. Cas pulled Dean close until they both came on top of scattered papers that would never again be a part of the library records.

Cas and Dean didn't desire to leave the floor behind the large main desk. They were contented and quiet for so long that time seemed to dawdle. Cas trailed his fingers over Dean's palm and soon laced their fingers together. With the smallest of tugs, Dean collapsed on top of Cas. " _Mmm_ ," was Dean's only reply as his eyelids slid closed.

Cas, who was such an advocate of rest, kept Dean alert with kisses to his forehead and face. "Keep that up and I'm going to fuck you again," Dean threatened wearily.

Castiel pulled Dean up and left a deep, lingering kiss on his lips. The Winchester swallowed and took in the wondrous sight of the other man. "So many kisses," Dean chuckled. "Why so many?"

"I don't like being interrupted," Cas replied.

"Neither do I."

"We're not being interrupted now." Castiel wanted every kiss he could steal while they were in peace even if he was almost just as tired as Dean.

"Good point," Dean wrapped his arms around Cas. Regardless of what he said, Dean wasn't quite ready for another round. He was tingly with love, but lacking energy. Cas was bent on kissing him again, with fervor, but a flinch from Dean stopped him.

"Cas."

"Yeah?"

"Just... hang on," Dean mumbled and rested his head against the other man. He didn't want to admit that he was as exhausted as he was. The silence they shared was thoughtful and relaxed until Dean thought back to Bobby's letter. He felt uneasy about prying into Castiel's past, especially after having promised to let the issue go until they were free. Cas held him with so much trust and affection. What would Dean say if he learned of Castiel's crime before Cas was ready to tell him about it? Dean groaned.

"Are you alright?" Cas asked.

_I'm just a backstabbing asshole._

"I'm just worried about Sam," Dean said, hoping to convince himself of that fact. He had enough to worry about with escape plans and his brother without adding betraying Cas' trust to that pile.

"I am too," Castiel replied.

"Why hasn't he written?" Dean asked, not wishing for an answer. The worst reason was obvious, but suddenly, Dean panicked over thoughts that someone may have told Sam he was in prison. What if Sam was so angry he had stopped writing? Dean stiffened in horror. Certainly, it must have been impossible to successfully hide such an important truth for such a long time.

The first phases of a massive lie were always the easiest – the times when Dean could pretend reality would actually bend to the things he wanted others to believe. This phase, the paranoid phase, drove him crazy. He buried his face in his hands. "I'm fucking tired, Cas," Dean whispered. "I'm tired of everything. Everything but you."

"You never sleep. Not sleeping isn't making things easier for you," Castiel said. He was convinced Dean ran only on fumes of obsession and anxiety. How he managed to muster any passion in the tumultuous state he was always in impressed Cas.

"Sleeping won't fix things!" Dean answered.

"I know." Cas pulled Dean to his body. "But still, please try to sleep tonight."

Dean moved, thinking about what else needed to be done. "We gotta close shop."

"I'll close shop," Cas offered, hoping to give Dean one less thing to be concerned about. He gave Dean a serious, scientific breakdown of why sleep was so important and how sleep depravation could negatively affect the senses.

"Yeah, yeah, blah, blah…" Dean muttered. Cas was the most beautiful broken record he'd ever heard. Whether it was the deep, attractive tone of his voice, the confusing jargon he uttered, or the way he held Dean – somehow – Cas lulled Dean to sleep.

Once he was out, Cas gazed up at the ceiling, "Thank you, Lord."

* * *

The Winchester was out of sorts for the rest of the evening. Twenty minutes of post-coital sleep couldn't make up for the many sleepless nights he'd spent thinking about Sam and Cas recently. Sometimes Dean thought he favored his old nightmares to his imaginings of what could happen to his most beloved people. He hadn't been meeting his quota of four hours for a long time and it was wearing him thin. _Not tonight_. Tonight he would finally take Cas' advice and put real effort into falling to sleep. Surely, it couldn't be that hard?

Dean stood at attention during the nightly count, but his mind was in a daze. His eyes often wandered to Castiel across the rows of men, while guards filed by among them. Cas was lovely to care so much about Dean getting rest even though his concern had a tendency to irritate Dean. He didn't like to be told what to do, but maybe if he slept properly, a brilliant escape plan would miraculously appear to him the next morning. That would give him one less thing to fret about in the night for the future. The lights went out and Dean crawled into bed, thinking of Cas and his warm arms. _You can do this._

In record time, Dean lost consciousness. Thoughts of the freedom he was destined to share with Sam and Cas proved to be an effective sedative. They would be together and it would be a magnificent, never-ending series road trips, with the best car ever created and plenty of beer…

His period of sleep felt eternal, but Dean could tell not much time had passed when he next opened his eyes. The night was yet heavy. What had awakened him was the sensation of an intrusive gaze on his body.

Freeman Daggett was standing in front of Dean's cell, staring directly at him.

"C-Christ!" Dean exclaimed and inched back on his bed.

Daggett was clouded in shadow, but Dean could tell it was him by the way the moonlight outlined his juggernaut of a form. He was the only guard larger and more imposing than Uriel. The low light on the guard's face revealed a pair of lonely blue eyes. Daggett was known for being silent and for having a reputation for voyeurism. He stared at inmates wordlessly, making many of the men wonder if the only reason he was not in a cell beside them was that he'd never been caught doing whatever it was he did on his off hours.

Daggett only worked the night shift, passing by cells like a wraith. Dean had figured that was because his face was too hideous for daylight. The guard normally kept out of sight, which made his obvious, unmoving presence before Dean all the more disturbing now.

 _Why's he staring? Holy fuck, I didn't know he actually did that. Fuck, fuck! He knows you're awake._ The Winchester swallowed. Perhaps if he pretended to go back to sleep, Daggett would wander off to haunt someone else. Quietly, Dean pulled the sheets over himself in a slow, cautious movement.

Daggett moved forward and breathed in a low tone that had every cadence of eerie longing, "Winchester…"

"Why don't ya take a picture? It'll last longer!" Dean's voice wavered. "Can't you see a man's trying to sleep here?"

The guard huffed a soft breath and gave Dean a faint smile. Then, he slipped a key into the cell door.

_FUCK._

"W-Wait!" Dean shifted anxiously. The lock gave away and the door creaked a hair open. "Listen, pal – "

"Get up," Daggett commanded.

"Why?" Dean answered in confusion. "I mean, _no!_ "

Within seconds, the guard was at Dean's bedside, dragging him out into the night air. It felt unreal to be outside of his cell at such a late hour, but it brought Dean no sense of ease. Hoisted away against his will, Dean let out a strangled cry and began to fight. "Let go!"

The guard quickly covered Dean's mouth with a firm, giant hand. Frantically, Dean bit down, trying to tear into fingers as tough as potatoes. If Daggett felt any pain, he hid it well. Dean's heart raced and he struggled, punching and kicking away at a body that was built like iron. The guard flinched only at a few of Dean's blows. Suddenly, Dean felt pressure around his neck. Then, he gradually lost consciousness and the will to fight.

* * *

Dean woke up behind bars. He was so startled he wasn't sure if he had dreamed his encounter with Daggett. _This isn't my cell._ The cell Dean was in was so dark it was difficult for him to make out anything within his surroundings. He could only tell he was in a place that was bigger than he was used to because there was a fierce draft and the darkness seemed to extend forever.

When footfalls approached from the left, Dean's eyes focused on the space beyond the bars. Light caught on wire-rimmed glasses. _Zachariah._ The warden looked sour faced as ever, but with a hint of madness.

"Zach. _Sir_ ," Dean corrected himself. "Do you have _any_ idea what time it is?"

Zachariah was now inches from Dean's worn face, his lips drawn tight. Ignoring Dean's complaint, the warden spoke. "I extended my hospitality to you. I gave you privileges." He paused. "It's not easy running this facility. Do you think it's easy?"

"Christ. You woke me up for this?" Dean moaned and rubbed his eyes. This had to be a joke, he thought.

"You could've been something, Dean. You could have reformed," Zachariah replied. "All you had to do was play your part. I gave you every opportunity. And this is how you repay me? You think you can beat _us?_ "

Dean stilled. "No clue what you're talking about, champ."

"You do know. Because _I_ know." Zachariah closed in on the bars, almost pressing his sweaty flesh to the metal. "I know everything. Eyes and ears are on the walls, Dean."

The Winchester took the opportunity of their closeness to spit on the warden's face. "Did you know I was going to do that?" he asked.

Zachariah smeared the salvia on his lenses, fingers trembling with fury. In a flash, he gripped the front of Dean's shirt and pulled him forcefully against the bars. "I won't let you ruin this for me, you simpering swine!" the warden shouted. "I've got people up the chain breathing down my neck about results. It's all about results, results, results! You don't _matter_. And you won't get in my way!"

"What the fuck!" Dean fumed. "Hands off, you fat faced dick!"

Dean tried to punch the warden, but couldn't quite get a hit in through the bars. The Winchester was so disoriented and surprised by the warden that he didn't know how to respond to his ravings. Across the cell, a door opened with a loud, metallic sound, drawing Dean's attention to the distant, unseen opening. Light glinted on tiny circular pieces of metal near the floor.

"You won't be the first man that's tried to revolt against me," Zachariah growled low, his lips so close to Dean's ear that Dean could feel the humidity of his mouth as he continued his warnings. "The men have orders to shoot escapees on sight," the warden said, "but not all escapees get shot…"

Gentle scraping sounds hit the concrete and the shiny silver pieces in the dark moved closer. The tinkling sounds in the shadows were dreadful in their familiarity. A foreign word was spoken by an invisible agent behind the faraway door and Dean suddenly heard snarls, barks, and growls that were immediately followed by two immense dogs launching at him with their fangs bared. He tensed and drew as far back into the corner of the cell as possible. Dean's utterances of horror brought a sinister smirk to the warden's face. Zachariah struggled to push the trembling Winchester near the dogs as Dean fought to get away from them. For a fleeting instant Dean believed his death was imminent.

They weren't going to stop, Dean feared, just as the sound of chains being pulled to their maximum extent cut into the sounds of unceasing barking and snarling. Dean gripped the bars, eyes wide. The dogs had only barely missed ripping into his body.

"Alsatian Wolf Dogs. You probably know them as German Shepherds. We like to keep them handy," Zachariah explained, quite proud of himself. "I told you I know _everything_. I know how you got those scars on your legs and I can give you more to match."

Dean yelled when sharp white teeth surrounded by black fur tore the fabric of his pant leg. The dogs were fighting to get closer, despite the chains. Slobber flung at Dean as he panicked and tried to kick the animals away.

"Castiel is going to die in this prison," Zachariah sneered, "The skin is going to melt off his pretty face. When his soul is burning in Hell I'm going to be pissing on his ashes. If you don't want to end up next to that faggot slime, you will obey me. You will fall in line."

Dean panted and squirmed, "Get them off! Get them off!"

Zachariah uttered a command in a foreign language and the dogs abruptly sat down. They were quiet, but nonetheless terrifying to Dean. The fixed, attentive animal stares sent chills down Dean's spine.

"The only freedom you'll ever have is the one I allow you to have. Remember this lesson."


End file.
